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II  d_ 


THE  STORY  OF 

A  EOUND-HOUSE  AND 

OTHER  POEMS 


BY 
JOHN  MASEFIELD 

AUTHOR   OF    "the    EVERLASTING   MBBCT** 
**THB  WIDOW  IN  THE  BYE  STREET,'*  ETC. 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 
1912 

All  rights  reserved 


OOPYBIGHT,  1912, 

bt  the  macmillan  company. 

Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  N"vembc.^  1912. 


NcrtoootJ  i^regg 

J.  S.  Gushing  Co.  —  Berwick  «&  Smith  Co. 

Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 


Dauber *.        .        .        .  1 

Biography 187 

y^  Ships 210 

—Truth 219 

i,,They  closed  her  Eyes 221 

s^  The  Harp 227 

*  I  saw  the  Ramparts 228 

That  Blessed  Sunlight 230 

Song 232 

The  Ballad  of  Sir-^ors 234 

Spanish  Wa    lS 237 

^^::==^argoes 242 

-/^Captain  Stratton's  Fancy 244 

/       An  Old  Song  re-sung       .   ^ 247 

St.  Mary's  Bells       . 249 

London  Town 251 

The  Emigrant 254 

Port  of  Holy  Peter  .         .        . ^       .         .         .256 

Beauty     .         .         .         .         :         ."      ^        .         .259 

^-The  Seekers \^    .         .260 

Prayer ^  .         .263 

Dawn 265 

„  Laugh  and  be  Merry        ......  266 

June  Twilight 268 

y  Roadways 270 

Midsummer  Night 272 

The  Harper's  Song 274 

The  Gentle  Lady 276 

The  Dead  Knight 277 

V 


259903 


/ 


VI  .  CONTENTS 

PAGK 

Sorrow  of  Mydath .279 

Twilight 281 

Invocation 282 

Posted  as  Missing 283 

Creed 285 

When  Bony  Death 288 

—The  West  Wind 290 

Her  Heart 293 

Being  her  Friend 295 

Fragments 296 

Born  for  Nought  Else 300 

Tewkesbury  Road   .         .         .         .         .         .         .302 

The  Death  Rooms 304 

Ignorance 306 

Sea  Fever 308 

The  Watch  in  the  Wood 310 

-"€.  L.  M 313 

Waste 315 

Third  Mate 317 

The  Wild  Duck 320 

Christmas,  1903 322 

The  Word 324 


THE  STORY  OF  A  ROUND-HOUSE 
AND  OTHER  POEMS 


\ 


T*0^    fluuutWL     e)U<vvo^(u^     ^w   V^  lb      t<#^^^^?^cX^.A'' 


DAUBER 
I 

Four  bells  were  struck,  the  watch  was  called 

on  deck, 
All  work  aboard  was  over  for  the  hour. 
And  some  men  sang  and  others  played  at 

check, 
Or  mended  clothes  or  watched  the  sunset 

glower, 
\         The    bursting    west    was    like    an    opening 

flower 
And  one  man  watched  it  till  the  light  was 

dim. 
But  no  one  went  across  to  talk  to  him. 

He  was  the  Painter  in  that  swift  ship's  crew, 
/        Lampman  and  painter,  tall,   a    slight-built 
?i.  man, 

'  B  1 


"1 


•  "'2  ■  ■  ••'     :...:.'•.  '.DAUBER 

Young  for  his  years  and  not  yet  twenty- 
two, 

Sickly,  and  not  yet  brown  with  the  sea's  tan. 

Bullied  and  damned  at  since  the  voyage 
began, 

^' Being  neither  man  nor  seaman,  by  his 
tally,'' 

He  bunked  with  the  idlers  just  abaft  the 
galley. 

His  work  began  at  five;  he  worked  all  day, 

Keeping  no  watch  and  having  all  night  in, 

His  work  was  what  the  mate  might  care  to 
say. 

He  mixed  red  lead  in  many  a  bouilli  tin; 

His  dungarees  were  smeared  with  paraffin; 

*'Go  drown  himself,"  his  roundhouse  mates 
advised  him 

And  all  hands  called  him  Dauber  and  de- 
spised him. 


DAUBER  3 

Si,   the  apprentice,   stood  beside  the  spar. 
Stripped  to  the  waist,  a  basin  at  his  side, 
Slushing  his  hands  to  get  away  the  tar. 
And  then  he  washed  himself  and  rinsed  and^ 

dried. 
ToweUing  his  face,  hair-towzelled,  eager-eyed. 
He  crossed  the  spar  to  Dauber  and  there 

stood 
Watching  the  gold  of  heaven  turn  to  blood. 
They  stood  there  by  the  rail  while  the  swift 

ship 
Tore  on   out   of  the  tropics,  straining  her 
^  sheets, 

y        Whitening  her  trackway  to  a  milky  strip 
Dim  with  green  bubbles  and  twisted  water- 
meets, 
Her    clacking    tackle    tugged    at    pins    and 

cleats, 
Her  great  sails  bellied  hard  and  her  masts 
leaned ; 


4  DAUBER 

They  watched  how  the  seas  struck  and  burst 
and  greened. 

Si  talked  with  Dauber,  standing  by  the  side. 
*^Why  did  you  come  to  sea,  Painter?"   he 

said, 
\    jj     ^'I  want  to  be  a  painter,"  he  repUed, 

^^And  know  the  sea  and  ships  from  A  to  Z, 
And   paint   great   ships   at  sea  before   I'm 

dead. 
Ships    under    skysails    running    down    the 

Trade, 
Ships   and   the   sea;   there's   nothing   finer 

made. 

^'But  there's  so  much  to  learn,  with  sails 
^  and  ropes. 

And    how    the    sails    look,    full    or    being 

furled, 
And  how  the  lights  change  in  the  troughs 

and  slopes. 


DAUBER  5 

And   the   sea's   colours   up   and   down   the 

world, 
And  how  a  storm  looks  when  the  sprays  are 

hurled 
High  as  the  yard  (they  say)  I  want  to  see, 
There's  none  ashore  can  teach  such  things 

to  me. 

*^  And  then  the  men  and  rigging,  and  the  way 
Ships  move,  running  or  beating,  and  the  poise 
At  the  roll's  end,  the  checking  in  the  sway, 
I  want  to  paint  them  perfect,  short  of  the 

noise. 
And  then  the  life,  the  half-decks  full  of  boys, 
The  fo'c's'les  with  the  men  there,  dripping 

wet : 
I  know  the  subjects  that  I  want  to  get. 

'^It's  not  been  done,  the  sea,  not  yet  been 
\  done. 

From  the  inside,  by  one  who  really  knows, 


4 


6  DAUBER 

Vd  give  up  all  if  I  could  be  the  one, 
But  art   comes   dear   the  way  the  money 

goes. 
So  I  have  come  to  sea,  and  I  suppose 
Three  years  will  teach  me  all  I  want  to  learn 
And  make  enough  to  keep  me  till  I  earn.'' 

Even  as  he  spoke  his  busy  pencil  moved 
^  Drawing  the  leap  of  water  off  the  side 
Where    the    great    clipper    trampled    iron- 

hooved 
Making  the  blue  hills  of  the  sea  divide, 
Shearing  a  glittering  scatter  in  her  stride, 
And  leaping  on  full  tilt  with  all  sails  draw- 
ing 
Proud  as  a  war-horse,  snuffing  battle,  paw- 
ing. 

'^I  cannot  get  it  yet,  not  yet,''  he  said, 
^^   ^  ^'That  leap  and  light  and  sudden  change  to 
green, 


DAUBER  7 

And  all  the  glittering  from  the  sunset's  red, 
And   the   milky   colours   where   the   bursts 

have  been, 
And  the  great  clipper  striding  like  a  queen 
Over  it  all,  all  beauty  to  the  crown, 
I  see  it  all,  I  cannot  put  it  down. 

"It's  hard,   not   to   be   able.     There,   look 
/\/  there, 

I  cannot  get  the  movement  nor  the  light : 
""^  Sometimes  it  almost  makes  a  man  despair 
.^    To  try  and  try  and  never  get  it  right. 
O,  if  I  could,  0,  if  I  only  might, 
1 1   wouldn't  mind   what    hells   I'd  have  to 

pass. 
Not  if  the  whole  world  called  me  fool  and 
ass." 

Down  sank  the  crimson  sun  into  the  sea 
\  ^     The  wind  cut  chill  at  once,  the  west  grew 
dun. 


8  DAUBER 

''Out    sidelights/'   called    the    mate;    ''Hi, 

where  is  he?" 
The  boatswain  called,  "Out  sidelights,  damn 

you;  run.'' 
"He's   always   late   or  lazing,"    murmured 

one, 
"The  Dauber,   with  his  sketching."     Soon 

the  tints 
Of  red  and   green  passed  on  dark   water- 
glints. 
^  Darker    it     grew,    still     darker,    and     the 
\  ^  stars 

Burned  golden,  and   the  fiery  fishes   came. 
The  wire-note  loudened  from  the  straining 

spars. 
The   sheet-blocks    clacked   together   always 

the  same. 
The  rushing  fishes  streaked  the  seas  with 

flame, 
Racing  the  one  speed  noble  as  their  own, 


JDAUBEE  9 

What  unknown  joy  was  in  those  fish  un- 
known. 

Just  by  the  roundhouse  door  as  it  grew  dark 

The  boatswain  caught  the  Dauber  with 
>.  I  ''Now,  you. 

Till  now  IVe  spared  you,  damn  you,  now 
you  hark, 

IVe  just  had  hell  for  what  you  didn't  do. 

I'll  have  you  broke  and  sent  among  the 
crew 

If  you  get  me  more  trouble  by  a  particle. 

Don't  you  forget,  you  daubing,  useless  ar- 
ticle. 


10 


''You  thing,  you  twice-laid  thing  from  Port 

Mahon." 
Then  came  the  cook's  "Is  that  the  Dauber 

there  ? 
Why  don't  you  leave  them  stinking  paints 

alone  ? 


10  DAUBER 

They  stink  the  house  out,  poisoning  all  the 

air, 
Just   take   them   out/'     ^^ Where   to?''     '^I 

don't  care  where. 
I  won't  have  stinking  paints  here."    From 

their  plates, 
^^ That's   right;     wet   paint   breeds   fever," 

growled  his  mates. 

He   took  his   still  wet   drawings  from   the 

berth 
And  climbed  the  ladder  to  the  deck-house 
^  top, 

Beneath,    the    noisy    half-deck    rang    with 

mirth 
For  two  ship's  boys  were  putting  on    the 

strop. 
One,  clambering  up  to  let  the  skyhght  drop, 
Saw  him  and  scuttled  down  and  whispered 

''Sammy, 


DAUBER  11 

Here's  Dauber  mooning  on  the  deck-house, 
dammy.'' 

^^y^^ Watch    what    he    does:''     they  watched; 

five  pairs  of  eyes, 
Stared  through  the  sHt  to  see  what  Dauber 

did. 
They  saw  him  watch  the  rising  moon  with 

sighs, 
Then  bend  to  the  ship's  long  boat  on  the  skid 
And  lay  beneath  her  something  which  he 

hid. 
'^Myst'ry  in  high   life,"  whispered   one   to 

t'other, 
''The  Foundling  Babe,  or  Who  was  Peter's 

Mother?" 

4     He  stayed  a  moment,  leaning  on  the  boat. 
Watching  the  constellations  rise  and  burn, 
Until  the  beauty  took  him  by  the  throat 
So  stately  is  their  glittering  overturn; 


12  DAUBEB 

Armies  of  marching  eyes,  armies  that  yearn 
With  banners  rising  and  falling  and  passing 

by 
Over  the  empty  silence  of  the  sky. 

cyA}  He  sighed  again  and  looked  at  the  great 

sails 
To  get  a  memory  of  their  look  at  night, 
The  high  trucks  traced  on  heaven  and  left 

no  trails, 
The   moonlight   made   the   topsails   almost 

white, 
The  passing  sidelight  seemed  to  drip  green 

light 
And  on  the  clipper  rushed  with  fire-bright 

bows. 
He  sighed  ^'I'U  never  do't,"  and  left  the 

house. 

\    '^Now,  Sammy, ^*  said  the  reefers.    Up  they 
crept, 


DAUBER  13 

Treading  on  tiptoe,  on  the  Dauber^s  track. 
They   groped   below   the   boat,    their   right 

hands  swept 
From   chock    to    skid    and  came  reward 

back. 
'^Drawings,  Lord  love  us,  sketches,  more,  a 

stack. 
Hush,  or  they'll  hear  us.     Hush.    You  little 

fishes. 
There's  boatswain  making  Dauber  wash  the 

dishes." 

«  They  took  the  drawings  to  the  half-deck. 
There 

Under  the  swinging  lamp  they  looked  and 
mocked. 

^^'A  boat  at  night  with  trawl  down^  burning 
a  flare  ^ 

Lord's  me;  'An  Ocean  Charger^  .  .  .  sickle- 
hocked. 


14  DAUBER 

^ At    sea,^       Vd    do    a    better    three    parts 

cocked. 
^A    topsail/    without    buntlines,    Dauber's 

style ; 
Put  end  to  end  they  almost  reach  a  mile !'' 

r    ^  The  oldest  reefer  lit  his  pipe  and  spat, 
"^         ''We'll  have  some  fun  with  these,"  he  said. 
''Now,  Joe, 
A  job  for  you,  and  see  you  do  it  pat. 
Pick  up  that  empty  tin,  my  son,  and  go 
Aft  to  the  lamp-room.'' 

"Mate's  there." 

"Even  so. 
Do  what  you're  told,  lay  aft  and  fill  that  tin 
With  turps  and  bring  it  back,  or  mind  your 
skin." 


^^ 


"But  Sam,  the  mate's  there."    "Jao,  you 
Kitmutgar ; 


DAUBER  16 

Jao;   pasea."    He  went,  he  filled  the  can, 
Dodging  the  mate,   and   '^Here,"   he  said, 

''you  are; 
This  is  the  turps ;  now  Sammy,  what^s  the 

plan?^' 
''Rouse   out   a   mess-clout  now,   my  little 

man. 
And    wash    these    daubs    with    turps    until 

they're  gone. 
And    then    we'll    put    them    back.    Heave 

round.     Lay  on." 

^  V    They   smeared   the   paint   with   turpentine 
until 
X    They  could  remove  with  mess-clouts  every 

trace 
[  Of  quick  perception  caught  by  patient  skill 
1  And  lines  that  had  brought  blood  into  his 
face ; 
They  wiped  the  pigments  off  and  did  erase, 


16  DAUBER 

With  knives,  all  sticking  clots :    when  they 

had  done 
Under  the  boat  they  laid  them  every  one. 

^  ,  All  he  had  drawn  since  first  he  came  to 
sea, 

His  six  weeks^  leisure  fruits,  they  laid 
them  there; 

They  chuckled  then  to  think  how  mad  heM 
be 

Finding  his  paintings  vanished  into  air. 

Eight  bells  were  struck,  and  feet  from  every- 
where 

Went  shuffling  aft  to  muster  in  the  dark. 

The  mate's  pipe  glowed  above,  a  dim  red 
spark. 

Names  in  the  darkness  passed  and  voices 


i'^  enea, 


The  red  spark  glowed  and  died,  the  faces 
seemed 


DAUBEB  17 

As ,  things   remembered  when   a  brain  has 

died 
To  all  but  high  intenseness  deeply  dreamed  ; 
Like  hissing  spears  the  fishes'  fire  streamed, 
And   on    the    clipper    rushed  with    tossing 

mast, 
A  bath  of  flame  broke  round  her  as  she 

passed. 

The  watch  was  set;  the  night  came,  and  the 


men 


Hid  from  the  moon  in  shadowed  nooks  to 

sleep, 
Bunched  like  the  dead,  still  like  the  dead,  as 

when 
Plague  in  a  city  leaves  none  even  to  weep. 
The  ship's  track  brightened  to  a  mile-broad 

sweep ; 
The  mate  there  felt  her  pulse  and  eyed  the 

spars. 

c 


18  DAUBEB 

Southwest   by   south   she   staggered,   under 
the  stars. 

dA    Down  in  his  bunk  the  Dauber  lay  awake 
Thinking  of  his  unfitness  for  the  sea. 
Each  failure,   each  derision,   each  mistake, 
There   in   the    life   not   made  for  such  as 

he; 
A  morning  grim  with  trouble  sure  to  be, 
A  noon  of  pain  from  failure,  and  a  night 
Bitter  with  men's  contemning  and  despite. 

This    in    the    first    beginning,    the    green 
^  leaf. 

Still    in    the    Trades    before    bad    weather 

fell; 
What  harvest  would  he  reap  of  hate  and 

grief 
When    the   loud   Horn   made  every   life   a 

hell? 


DAUBER  19 

T\Tien  the  sick  ship  lay  over,  clanging  her 
bell, 

And  no  time  came  for  painting  or  for  draw- 
ing, 

But  all  hands  fought,  and  icy  death  came 
clawing? 

-^  \      Hell,    he    expected,    hell.     His    eyes    grew 

blind. 
The  snoring  from  his  messmates  droned  and 

snuffled. 
And  then  a  gush  of  pity  calmed  his  mind 
And  the  sharp  torment  of  his  thought  was 

muffled, 
Without,    on    deck,    the    old,   old    seaman 

shuffled. 
Humming  his  song,  and  through  the  open 

door 
A  moonbeam  moved  and  thrust  along  the 

floor. 


20  DA  UBER 

The  green  bunk-curtains  moved,  the  brass 
rings  choked, 
1  <^    The  cook  cursed  in  his  sleep,  turning  and 
turning. 

The  moonbeam's  moving  finger  touched  and 
picked 

And  all  the  stars  in  all  the  sky  were  burning. 

'^This  is  the  art  IVe  come  for  and  am  learn- 
ing, 

The  sea  and  ships  and  men  and  travelling 
things. 

It  is  most  proud,  whatever  pain  it  brings/' 

He  leaned  upon  his  arm  and  watched  the 

light 
Sliding  and  fading  to  the  steady  roll; 
This  he  would  some  day  paint,  the  ship  at 

night. 
And  sleeping  seamen  tired  to  the  soul. 
The  space  below  the  bunks  as  black  as  coal. 


DAUBER  21 

Gleams  upon  chests,  upon  the  unht  lamp, 
The  ranging  door-hook  and  the  locker  clamp. 

,  This  he  would  paint,  and  that,  and  all  these 
I  scenes. 

And  proud  ships  carrying  on,  and  men  their 

minds. 
And  blues  of  rollers  toppling  into  greens 
And  shattering  into  white  that  bursts  and 

blinds. 
And    scattering    ships    running    erect    like 

hinds, 
And  men  in  oilskins  beating  down  a  sail 
High  on  the  yellow  yard,  in  snow,  in  hail, 

/  With  faces  ducked  down  from  the  slanting 
drive 
Of  half-thawed  hail,  mixed  with  half-frozen 

spray. 
The  roaring  canvas  like  a  thing  alive, 


22  DAUBER 

Shaking    the    mast,    knocking    their    hands 

away, 
The  footropes  jerking  to  the  tug  and  sway, 
The  savage  eyes  salt-reddened  at  the  rims 
And  icicles  on  the  southwester  brims. 

And  sunnier  scenes  would  grow  under  his 
^  brush, 

The  tropic  dawn,  with  all  things  dropping 

dew, 
The  darkness  and  the  wonder  and  the  hush. 
The  insensate  gray  before  the  marvel  grew. 
Then    the    veil    lifted    from    the    trembling 

blue. 
The  walls  of  sky  burst  in,  the  flower,  the  rose, 
All   the   expanse   of    heaven   a   mind    that 

glows. 


■)'^ 


He  turned  out  of  his  bunk;    the  cook  still 

tossed, 
One  of  the  other  two  spoke  in  his  sleep, 


DAUBEB  23 

A  cockroach  scuttled  where  the  moonbeam 

crossed ; 
Outside  there  was  the  ship,  the  night,  the 

deep. 
^^It  is  worth  while,"  the  youth  said;  ^'I  will 

keep 
To  my  resolve.     I'll  learn  to  paint  all  this. 
My  Lord !   my  God  !   how  beautiful  it  is  ! " 

)    Outside  was  the  ship's  rush  to  the  wind's 

d 

hurry, 
A   resonant   wire-hum   from   every   rope, 
The  broadening  bow-wash  in  a  fiery  flurry. 
The  leaning  masts  in  their  majestic  slope, 
And  all  things  strange  with  moonlight :  filled 

with  hope 
By  all  that  beauty  going  as  man  bade 
He  turned  and  slept  in  peace.    Eight  bells 

were  made. 


24  BAUBER 

II 

Next  day  was  Sunday,  his  fyee  painting  day, 
While  the  fine  weather  held,  from  eight  till 

eight ; 
He  rose  when  called  at  five  and  did  array 
The  roundhouse  gear  and  set  the  kit  bags 

straight. 
Then,  kneeling  down  like  housemaid  at  a 

grate. 
He  scrubbed  the  deck  with  sand  until  his 

knees 
Were  blue  with  dye  from  his  wet  dungarees. 

He  swabbed  the  deck  with  clouts  till  it  was 
dry. 

Ranged  straight  the  chests,  scrubbed  where 
the  chests  had  lain, 

Roused  out  the  lockers  where  the  whack- 
pots  lie, 


DAUBER  '  25 

Wiped    all    the    tins    and    put   them  back 

again. 
Scrubbed  at  the  lamp-room  deck  with  might 

and  main 
To  get  the  oil  stains  out,  then  cleaned  his 

lamps, 
Smoked  by  the  night's  affairs,  greened  by  its 

damps. 

Soon  all  was  clean,  his  Sunday  tasks  were 

done, 
His    day    was    clear    for    painting    as    he 

chose, 
The  wetted  decks  were  drying  in  the  sun; 
The  men  coiled  up,  or  swabbed,  or  sought 

repose. 
The   drifts   of   silver   arrows   fell   and   rose 
As  flying  fish  took  wing  and  skimmed  and 

dipped. 
A  man  poured  buckets  on  the  bosun  stripped. 


26  DAUBER 

Eight  bells  were  made.    The  painter  went 
.    ^  below. 

I  </~~''Now,   Dauber,   where's    the    breakfast?" 

said  his  mates. 
''Now  don^t  stand  staring;   take  the  kettle, 

go. 
You  like  to  have  your  loaf,  whoever  waits.'' 
He  fetched  the  kettle  and  the  kid  of  cates. 
Coffee  and   burgoo   specked  with  many  a 

weevil. 
''You're    always   last,"    the   cook   growled, 

looking  evil. 

Next,  at  the  meal,  the  bosun  eyed  the  deck. 
^      "Who  cleaned  the  house  out?"     "Dauber." 
A  "So  I  guessed. 

I  want  this  floor    made  white  without    a 

speck. 
Look  there  by  Sails  and  see  the  way  you've 
messed ; 


DAUBER  27 

All  tide-marks  where  you  let  the  water  rest : 
You've  scrubbed  in  strips  and  left  the  space 

between, 
And  now  you'll  get  a  stone  and  sweat  it 

clean.'* 

Then    Chips    began:    ''Now,    Dauber,"    he 
T  began, 

''We  only  tell  you  this  for  your  own  good. 

A  man  at  sea  has  got  to  be  a  man 

Or  do  without  man's  treatment  and  man's 

food. 
We  won't  have  dirt :  let  that  be  understood. 
Neither  in  you  nor  here."     "No,"  said  the 

Cook, 
"The  Dauber  hasn't  washed  his  hands  yet; 

look. 

"Look  at  his  hands,  all  oil  still  to  the  wrists. 
T  ^  Why  do  you  come  to  breakfast  with  such 
hands  ? 


28  DAUBEB 

Bringing   our   breakfast,  too,  in  dirty  fists, 

Marking  my  kids:  look  here  at  Dauber's 
brands/' 

The  bosun  spoke :  ^^IVe  been  in  some  com- 
mands. 

They'd  scrub  a  man  for  dirt  hke  that," 
he  said  ; 

'^Stripped  bare,  with  sand  and  canvas,  in 
the  head.'' 

Sails    spoke    again:     ^'Dauber,"    he     said, 
L±^\j       '       ''you  strip. 

Unless   you're   clean  we'll   sand-and-canvas 

you. 
If  one  man  goes  he  gives  it  to  the  ship. 
So  what  the  crowd  does  every  one  must  do. 
So  strip  and  scrub  or  we  shall  learn  you  to 
With  the  fore-brace:   now  do  it.    Cleanli- 
ness 
Before  burgoo,  and  painting,  too,  I  guess." 


1 


H- 


DAUBER  29 

'^That's  you/'  said  all.  The  Dauber  stripped 
and  soaped; 

His  messmates  eyed  his  points  and  mocked 
his  build : 

His  scraggy  neck,  his  shoulders  steeply 
sloped, 

His  ribs  all  sunken  in,  his  chest  unfilled. 

His  arms  like  stalks,  his  little  hands  un- 
skilled 

To  strangle  sail  in  snow  squalls  off  the  Horn ; 

And  all  the  rest  that  shouldn't  have  been 
born. 


J  So  precious  time  was  wasted,  bell  by  bell, 
Before  the  washing  and  the  breakfast  ended, 
The   artist's   leisure   which   the   wise   gods 

sell 
Only  for  life  paid  down  and  spirit  spended. 
The  clipper  hove  her  bows   out    and    de- 
scended. 


30  DAUBER 

Bright  span  the  bubbles  on  that  glittering 

sea. 
The  Dauber  swept  the  crumbs  up  and  was 

free. 

^    Free  for  two  hours  and  more  to  tingle  deep, 
Catching  a  likeness  in  a  line  or  tint, 
The  canvas  running  up  in  a  proud  sweep, 
Wind-wrinkled  at  the  clews  and  white  like 

lint. 
The  glittering  of  the  blue  waves  into  glint. 
Free   to   attempt   it   all,    the   proud   ship's 

pawings. 
The  sea,  the  sky :  he  went  to  fetch  his  draw- 
ings. 


Up    to    the    deck-house    top    he    quickly 


9 

climbed ; 


He  stooped  to  find  them  imderneath  the 
boat. 


DAUBER  31 

He  found  them  all  obliterated,  slimed, 
Blotted,  erased,  gone  from  him  line  and  note. 
They  were  all  spoiled;     a  lump  came    in 

his  throat, 
Being    vain    of    his    attempts    and    tender 

skinned. 
Beneath    the    l^ftt^--the    watching    reefers 

grinned. 

The  knives  had  made  some  of  the  canvas 
^  rough. 

Spoiling  the  surface  for  a  new  endeavour. 
Three  were  so  spoiled,  the  rest  were  good 

enough, 
Though  all  they  once  had  borne  was  gone 

for  ever. 
''Ah,  I  suppose,''  he  said,  ''they  think  that 

clever : 
It's  easy  to  destroy ;   doing's  the  pain :        / 
Now  I  shall  have  to   do  them  all  again." 


s"" 


32  DAUBER 

He    clambered    down,    holding    the    ruined 

things. 
'^  Bosun/'  he  called,  '^look  here,  did  you  do 

these  ? 
Wipe   off   my   paints    and    cut   them   into 

strings 
And  smear  them  till  you  can't  tell  chalk 

from  cheese. 
Don't  stare,  but  did  you  do  it?    Answer, 

please." 
The  bosun  turned.     '^I'll  give  you  a  thick 

ear. 
Do  it?    I  didn't.    Get  to  hell  from  here. 


''I     touch     your     stinking     daubs?    The 
")  ^  Dauber's  daft." 

A  crowd  was  gathering  now  to  hear  the 

fun. 
The   reefers    tumbled    out,   the    men    laid 

aft, 


DAUBER  33 

The  cook  blinked,   cleaning  a  mess-kid  in 
the  sun; 

^'What^s  up  with  Dauber  now?^'  said  every- 
one. 

'^Someone  has   spoiled  my   drawings,   look 
at  this." 
Well,  that's  a  dirty  trick,  by  God  it  is." 


(C 


.^1  ''It  is,"  said  Sam,  ''a  low-down  dirty  trick 
To  spoil  a  fellow's  work  in  such  a  way, 
And  if  you  catch  him.  Dauber,  punch  him 

sick. 
For  he  deserves  it,   be  he  who  he  may." 
A  seaman  shook  his  old  head,  wise  and  gray. 
''It  seems  to  me,"  he  said,  "who  ain't  no 

judge. 
Them    drawings    look    much    better    now 

they're  smudge." 

"I  think  the  same,"  said  Cook;  "and  I," 
said  Sails, 


34  DAUBER 

*'Not  that  that's  consolation,  but  it's  true. 
You    find    the    man'  and    cut    him    into 

wales ; 
I  would,   I   tell  you  flat,   if  I  were  you." 
''When  was  it  done?"     ''Last  night."     "I 

wonder  who. 
The  three  mates  look  suspicious,  don't  they, 

fellows  ? 
It   might    be    them,    or    is    the    old    man 

jealous?" 

"Where    were    they.    Dauber?"     "On    the 

deck-house."     "Where?" 
"Under  the  long  boat,  in  a  secret  place." 
"The  blackguard  must  have  watched  you 

put  them  there. 
He   is    a   swine.    I    tell  him   to   his   face. 
I  didn't  think  we'd  anyone  so  base." 
"Nor    I,"    said    Dauber.     "There    was    six 

weeks'  time 


DAUBEn  85 

Just    wasted    in    these    drawings;     it^s    a 


crime." 


"Well,  don't  you  say  we  did  it,"  growled 
his  mates. 

"And  as  for  crime,  be  damned,  the  things 
were  smears, 

Best  overboard,  like  you,  with  shot  for 
weights. 

Thank  God  they're  gone,  and  now  go  shake 
your  ears." 

The   Dauber  listened,  very  near  to  tears; 

"Dauber,  if  I  were  you,"   said  Sam  again, 

"I'd  aft,  and  see  the  captain,  and  com- 
plain." 

A  sigh   came  from  the  assembled  seamen 

there. 
Would  he  be  such  a  fool  for  their  delight 
As  go  to  tell  the  captain  ?    Would  he  dare  ? 


36  DAUBER 

And  would  the  thunder  roar,  the  lightning 

smite  ? 
There   was    the    captain    come   to    take   a 

sight, 
Handling  his   sextant   by  the   chart   house 

aft. 
The   Dauber   turned,    the   seamen   thought 

him  daft. 

The     captain     took     his    sights,    a    mate 

below 
Noted   the   times;    they   shouted   to   each 

other. 
The  captain  quick  with  ^^Stop,"  the  answer 

slow, 
Repeating  slowly  one  height,  then  another : 
The  swooping  clipper  stumbled  through  the 

smother. 
The  ladder-brasses  in  the  sunlight  burned. 
The  Dauber  waited  till  the  captain  turned. 


DAUBER  37 

Under  the  jigger-staysail,  hat  in  hand, 
Head  bent,  as  fits  a  suppliant  out  at  sea, 
He  waited  for  dismissal  or   command, 
As  much  alone  as  any  man  can  be. 
The   mate   was   aft   about   the   log,    or   he 
Would  have  dismissed  him  forward,  no  word 

said; 
The  captain  eyed  the  trim  and  turned  his 

head. 

There   stood   the   Dauber,  humbled   to   the 

bone, 
Waiting  as  though  to  speak;    he  let  him 

wait. 
Glanced  at  the  course  and  called  in  even 

tone, 
^'What    is    the    man    there    wanting,    Mr. 

Mate?" 
The    logship     clattered     on     the     grating 

straight. 


38  DAUBER 

The    reel   rolled   to    the    scuppers   with    a 

clatter, 
The    mate    came    grim:     ''Well,    Dauber, 

what's  the  matter?" 

"Please,    sir,    they   spoiled   my   drawings." 

''Who  did?"     "They." 
"Who^s  they?"     "I  don't  quite  know,  sir." 
"Don't  quite  know,  sir? 
Then  why  are  you  aft  to  talk  about  it,  hey  ? 
Whom  d'you  complain  of?"       "No  one.'* 

"No  one?"     "No,  sir." 
"Well,  then,  go  forward  till  you've  found 

them.     Go,  sir. 
If  you  complain  of  someone,  then  I'll  see. 
Now  get  to  hell  and  don't  come  bothering 

me." 

"But,  sir,  they  washed  them  off  and  some 
they  cut. 


DAUBER  39 

Look   here,    sir,    how   they   spoiled   them." 

*' Never  mind. 
Go  shove  your  head  inside  the  scuttle  butt 
And  that  will  make  you  cooler.    You  will 

find 
Nothing  like  water  when  you're  mad  and 

blind. 
Where  were  the  drawings?    In  your  chest 

or  where  ?'^ 
''Under   the   long   boat,    sir;    I   put   them 

there." 

''Under   the  long   boat,   hey?    Now   mind 

your  tip. 
I'll  have  the  skids  kept  clear  with  nothing 

round  them. 
The  long  boat  ain't  a  store  in  this  here  ship, 
Lucky  for  you  it  wasn't  I  who  found  them. 
If    I    had    seen    them.    Dauber,    I'd    have 

drowned  them. 


40  DA  UBER 

Now  you  be  warned  by  this.    I  tell  you 

plain, 
Don^t    stow    your   brass-rags    under    boats 

again. 

"Go  forward  to  your  berth."     The  Dauber 

turned. 
The    listeners     down    below    them    winked 

and  smiled, 
Knowing    how    red    the    Dauber^s    temples 

burned. 
Having  lost   the  case  about  his  only  child 
His  work  was  done  to  nothing  and  defiled, 
And  there  was   no   redress :    the  captain's 

voice 
Spoke,   and  called  "Painter,''  making  him 

rejoice. 

The   captain   and   the  mate   conversed   to- 
gether. 


DAUBER  41 

'^ Drawings,  you  tell  me,  Mister?"     ^^Yes, 

sir,  views : 
Wiped  off  with  turps,  I  gather  that's  his 

blether. 
He  says  they're  things  he  can't  afford  to  lose. 
He's   Dick,   who   came    to   sea   in   dancing 

shoes 
And  found  the  dance  a  bear  dance.    They 

were  hidden 
Under  the  long  boat's  chocks,  which  I've 

forbidden." 

''Wiped  off  with  turps?"  The  captain 
sucked  his  lip. 

''Who  did  it.  Mister?"  ''Reefers,  I  sup- 
pose. 

Them  devils  do  the  most  pranks  in  a 
ship ; 

The  roundhouse  might  have  done  it,  cook 
or  bose." 


42  DAUBER 

'^1   can't  take  notice  of  it   till  he  knows. 
How   does   he   do   his   work?"     ^^Well,   no 

offence ; 
He  tries;    he  does  his  best.     He's  got  no 

sense." 

''Painter/'  the  captain  called;    the  Dauber 

came. 
''What's  all  this  talk  of  drawings?    What's 

the  matter?" 
"They  spoiled  my  drawings,  sir."     "Well, 

who's  to  blame? 
The  long  boat's  there  for  no  one  to  get  at 

her; 
You  broke  the  rules,  and  if  you  choose  to 

scatter 
Gear  up  and  down  where  it's  no  right  to 

be  ^ 

And     suffer    as    result,     don't     come    to 

me. 


DAUBER  43 

*^Your   place    is    in    the    roundhouse,   and 

your  gear 
Belongs    where    you    belong.     Who    spoiled 

your  things? 
Find  out  who  spoiled  your  things  and  fetch 

him  here." 
''But,  sir,  they  cut  the  canvas  into  strings." 
''I    want    no    argument    nor    questionings. 
Go   back   where    you   belong    and    say   no 

more. 
And  please  remember  that  you're  not  on 

shore." 

The  Dauber  touched  his  brow  and  slunk 
away ; 

They  eyed  his  going  with  a  bitter  eye. 

''Dauber,"  said  Sam,  "what  did  the  cap- 
tain say?" 

The'  Dauber  drooped  his  head  without 
reply. 


44  DAUBER 

''Go    forward,    Dauber,    and    enjoy    your 

cry." 
The  mate  limped  to  the  rail  and  conned 

the  craft, 
"Bosun,"    he    called:     the    bosun    hurried 

aft. 


''What's  this  of  Dauber's  drawings  being 
spoiled?" 

The  bosun  spat.  "The  come-day-go-day 
fool, 

A  junk-laid  twice-laid  hank  of  left-hand- 
coiled  : 

The  reefers  done  it  last  night  in  the 
cool. 

His  job's  the  minder's  in  an  infant  school ; 

Not  coming  to  sea:  the  reefers  done't  at 
night. 

They  scoffed  the  lot,  and  I  say  serve  him 
right. 


DAUBER  45 

"He^s  always  playing  hell  with  paints  or 
chalk, 

Making  some  mess  or  other,  or  a  stink." 

'^ Right, '^  said  the  mate;  he  turned,  re- 
sumed his  walk, 

Watching  the  trembling  water  droop  and 
bhnk. 

The  topsail  sheets  would  home  another  link. 

He  gave  the  order;  the  strong-shouldered 
men 

Hauled,  singing  out,  belayed,  and  slouched 
again. 

"Well,  that,''  exclaimed  the  mate;  he  eyed 

the  trim; 
All   things   were   romping   full,    the  Trade 

Wind  clouds 
Like  flocks  on  the  horizon  clustered  dim; 
Black  shadows  crossed  the  deck  from  stays 

and  shrouds. 


46  DAUBER 

The  wavering  silver  arrows  rose  in  crowds. 
'^  Bosun/'  he  cried,  and  when  the  man  drew 

near, 
*^In   future   see   the   long-boat   skids   kept 

clear. 

^'Go  round  them  every  night.     See  round 

the  boats." 
''Ay,  ay,  sir,"  said  the  bosun:   all  was  said. 
Two  brace  blocks  piped  aloft  in  different 

notes, 
The  reef  points   pattered   softly   overhead. 
Softly,  but  hurrying,  too,  as  children  tread, 
A  hush,   a  long  swift  hurry  of  little  feet, 
So  faint,  so  sure,  the  drumming  reef  points 

beat. 

The  Dauber  reached  the  berth  and  entered 

in. 
Much  mockery  followed  after  as  he  went. 


BA  UBER  47 

And  each  face  seemed  to  greet  him  with 
the  grin 

Of  hounds  hot  following  on  a  creature  spent. 

'^Aren^t  you  a  fool?"  each  mocking  visage 
meant. 

''Who  did  it,  Dauber?  What  did  cap- 
tain say? 

It  is  a  crime,  and  there'll  be  hell  to  pay." 

He  bowed  his  head,  the  house  was  full  of 

smoke. 
The    Sails    was    pointing    shackles    on    his 

chest. 
''Lord,    Dauber,    be    a    man    and    take    a 

joke"  — 
He  puffed  his  pipe  —  "and  let  the  matter 

rest. 
Spit  brown,  my  son,  and  get  a  hairy  breast  ; 
Get  shoulders  on  you  at  the  crojick  braces. 
And  let  this  painting  business  go  to  blazes. 


48  DA  UBEB 

'^What  good  can  painting  do  to  anyone? 
I  don^t  say  never  do  it;  far  from  that, 
No   harm  in   sometimes    painting  just   for 

fun. 
Keep  it  for  fun,  and  stick  to  what  you^re  at. 
Your  job's  to  fill  your  bones  up  and  get 

fat. 
Rib  up  like  Barney's  bull  and   thick  your 

neck. 
Throw  paints  to  hell,  boy,  you  belong  on 

deck." 

'^That's  right,"  said  Chips,  ''it's  downright 
good  advice. 

Painting's  no  good.  What  good  can  paint- 
ing do 

Up  on  a  lower  topsail  stiff  with  ice. 

With  all  your  little  fishhooks  frozen  blue? 

Painting  won't  help  you  at  the  weather 
clew 


DAUBER  49 

Nor  pass  your  gaskets  for  you,  nor  make 

sail ; 
Painting's  a  balmy^^job  not  worth  a  nail. 

"  Of    course   some   famous   painters    do   it 

well, 
Make  money,  too;    there's  Hogarth  did  it 

right. 
Who  did  the  Harlot's  Progress,   that  they 

sell 
In   Tiger   Bay   and   up   in   Fan's   Delight : 
You'd  think  the  views,  perhaps,  a  bawdy 

sight. 
But  I  was  shipmates  one  time  with  a  mate 
Who   said   he   use't   to   keep   his   daughter 

straight. 

"And    then  there's   others    said    to    do    it 

good 
As  well  as  Hogarth,  better,  too,  but  then 


60  DAUBER 

Them  ducks  are  born  with  painting  in  the 

blood, 
They  know  the  business  and  are  famous 

men. 
I  saw  some  pictures  by  them  one  time  when 
I  came  to  London  in  the  Golden  Rose. 
I  tell    you,    Dauber,    they   were    pictures, 

those. 

"  Like  life  some  of  the  sheep  were,  beautiful. 
They  stood  right  out,  you  could  have  heard 

them  bleat : 
But  for  the  glass  you  could  have  felt  their 

wool, 
And  count  the  grass  blades  underneath  their 

feet. 
And  plums,  like  real,  you  could  have  almost 

eat. 
And   one    called    ^Tragic   News,*    a   young 

girl   sighing. 


DA  UBEB  51 

You'll  never  paint  like  them,   it^s  no  use 
trying. 

''Wasting  your  time  I  call  it,  what  you  do. 
Getting  good  paint  and  canvas  slopped  and 

messed. 
A   Chinaman   does   better   ships   than   you 
For  half  a  dollar  in  a  reefer's  chest. 
I  tell  you  frankly,  drop  it,  you'd  be  best 
Drop  it  before  you  must,  and  don't  think 

twice. 
You'll   thank  me   some   day  for  my  good 

advice." 

The   Dauber   did   not   answer;    time   was 

passing. 
He   pulled    his   easel    out,    his    paints,   his 

stool. 
The  wind  was  dropping   and   the   sea  was 

glassing. 


62  DAUBER 

New  realms  of  beauty  waited  for  his  rule. 
The  draught  out  of  the  crojick  kept  him 

cool. 
He    sat    to    paint,    alone   and   melancholy. 
^^No  turning  fools, '^  the  Chips  said,  ^^from 

their  folly." 

He  dipped  his  brush,  and  tried  to  fix  a  line, 
And  then  came  peace,   and  gentle  beauty 

came, 
Turning  his  spirit's  water  into  wine. 
Lightening   his   darkness   with   a   touch   of 

flame : 
O  joy  of  trying  for  beauty,  ever  the  same, 
You   never   fail,  your   comforts  never  end; 
O    balm    of    this    world's    way,   O    perfect 

friend. 

There    the    four    leaning    spires    of    canvas 
rose, 


DA  USEE  53 

Royals   and  skysails  lifting,   gently  lifting, 
White  like  the  brightness  that  a  great  fish 

blows 
When  billows  are  at  peace  and  ships  are 

drifting : 
With   mighty   jerks   that   set   the   shadows 

shifting, 
The  courses  tugged  their  tethers :    a  blue 

haze 
Drifted  like  ghosts  of  flocks  come  down  to 

graze. 

There  the  great  skyline  made  her  perfect 
round, 

Notched  now  and  then  by  the  sea^s  deeper        * 
blue, 

A  smoke-smutch  marked  a  steamer  home- 
ward bound. 

The   haze   wrought   all   things   to   intenser 
hue. 


64  DAUBER 

In    tingling    impotence    the    Dauber    drew 
As  all  men  draw,  keen  to  the  shaken  soul, 
'[  To    give    a   hint    that    might    suggest    the 
whole. 

A  naked  seaman  washing  a  red  shirt 
Sat  at  a  tub  whistling  between  his  teeth; 
Complaining  blocks  quavered  like  something 

hurt. 
A  sailor  cut  an  old  boot  for  a  sheath. 
The  ship  bowed  to  her  shadow-ship  beneath 
And  little  slaps  of  spray  came  at  the  roll 
On  to  the  deck  planks  from  the  scupper- 
hole. 

He  watched  it,  painting  patiently,  as  paints 
With  eyes  that  pierce  behind  the  blue  sky's 

veil 
The  Benedictine  in  a  Book  of  Saints 
Watching   the  passing   of   the   Holy   Grail, 


DA  UBER  55 

The  green  dish  dripping  blood,  the  trump, 

the  hail. 
The  spears  that  pass,  the  memory  and  the 

passion. 
The    beauty    moving    under    this    world's 

fashion. 

The  reefers   watched  him   from   the   deck- 
house top. 
Eager  lest  any  rope  should  be  mislaid, 
Or  grubbing  under  boats  for  yarns  to  drop 
On  to  the  colours  on  his  palette  'splayed : 
Many   a   mock,  many   a   jest  they   made. 
'as   it   a   ship   he's   doing?"     ^'Ask   him." 

^'No, 
That's  not  a  ship,  Dick ;  it's  a  raree  show." 

He  painted  on,  not  caring,  hardly  hearing. 
He  breathed  another  air  within  his  brain. 
He  saw  the  image  of  his  thought  appearing, 


56  DAUBER 

His  minute's  power  made  his  pathway  plain. 
He  was  achieving  now,  he  would  attain 
Past  peak  and  stopping  place  on  art's  slow 

rise 
To  miracles  of  ships   and   seas  and  skies. 


Ill 


They  lost  the  Trades  soon  after ;  then  came 
calm, 

Light  little  gusts  and  rain,  which  soon  in- 
creased 

To  glorious  northers  shouting  out  a  psalm 

At  seeing  the  bright  blue  water  silver-fleeced. 

Horn-wards  she  rushed,  trampling  the  seas 
to  yeast; 

There  fell  a  rain-squall  in  a  blind  day's 
end, 

When  for  an  hour  the  Dauber  found  a 
friend 


DAUBEB  V  57 

Out  of  the  rain  the  voices  called  and  passed, 
The  staysails  flogged,  the  tackle  yanked  and 

shook ; 
Inside  the  harness-room  a  lantern  cast 
Light   and   wild   shadows   as  it   ranged  its 

hook. 
The  watch  on  deck   was  gathered   in   the 

nook. 
They  had  taken  shelter  in  that  secret  place ; 
Wild  light  gave  wild  emotions  to  each  face. 

One  beat  the  beef-cask  and  the  others  sang 
A  song  that  had  brought   anchors  out  of 

seas 
In   ports   where   bells   of   Christians   never 

rang, 
Nor  any  sea-mark  blazed  among  the  trees. 
By  forlorn  swamps,  in  ice,  by  windy  keys. 
That  song  had  sounded;  now  it  shook  the 

air 


58  DAUBER 

From    these    eight    wanderers    brought    to- 
gether there. 

Under  the  poop-break,  sheltering  from  the 

rain, 
The  Dauber  sketched  some  Hkeness  of  the 

room, 
A  note  to  be  a  prompting  to  his  brain, 
A  spark  to  make  old  memory  re-illume. 
'^  Dauber,"   said  someone  near  him  in  the 

gloom, 
''How  goes  it.   Dauber?''     It  was   reefer 

Si. 
''There's  not  much  use  in  trying  to  keep 

dry." 

''No,"    said    the    Dauber.       "What    you 

doing?"     "Drawing  .  .  . 
Drawing    the   watch   in   there."     "A   jolly 

crowd.  .  .  . 


DAUBER  59 

They're   always   having   sing-songs    or  else 

jawing. 
If  I  could  paint  like  you,  Daub,  I'd  be  proud. 
The  mate's  just  overhead,  so  don't  talk  loud. 
I'd  like  to  paint  like  you.     Sit  down  and  talk. 
The   deck's   too   swimming  wet   to   {ake  a 

caulk." 

They  sat  upon  the  sail-room  doorway  coam- 
ing; 

The  lad  held  forth  like  youth ;  the  Dauber 
listened 

To  how  the  boy  had  had  a  taste  for  roam- 
ing, 

And  what  the  sea  is  said  to  be  and  isn't. 

Where  the  dim  lamplight  fell  the  wet  deck 
glistened  ; 

Si  said  the  Horn  was  still  two  weeks  away. 

''But  tell  me.  Dauber,  where  d'you  hail 
from?    Eh?" 


60  DAUBER 

The  rain  blew  past  and  let  the  stars  appear, 
The  seas  grew  larger  as  the  moonlight  grew, 
For  half  an  hour  the  ring  of  heaven  was 

clear, 
Dusty    with    moonhght,    grey    rather    than 

blue; 
In  that  great  moon  the  showing  stars  were 

few. 
The  sleepy  time-boy^s  feet  passed  overhead. 
'^I  come  from  out  past  Gloucester, '^  Dauber 

said. 

"  Not  far  from  Pauntley,  if  you  know  those 

parts ; 
The  place  is  Spital  Farm  near  Silver  Hill, 
Above    a    traphatch   where   a   mill   stream 

starts. 
We  had  the  mill  once,  but  we've  stopped  the 

mill. 
My  dad  and  sister  keep  the  farm  on  still. 


DAUBER  61 

We're  only  tenants,  but  weVe  rented  there, 
Father  and  son,  for  over  eighty  year. 

*'  My  grandad  had  it  first,  as  a  young  man. 

During  Napoleon's  wars,  oh,  years  ago. 

Farming  was  rich  man's  work  when  he  be- 
gan, 

And  he  could  farm;  he  made  the  corn  to 
grow, 

He  cropped  on  bits  we  wouldn't  even  sow. 

There  were  big  profits  then  on  breadstuffs; 
he 

Had  thirty  acres  corn  where  we  have  three. 

'^I've  heard   my  father  say  that   grandfer 

said 
That  when  he  first  began  and  'tended  fairs. 
The  farmers'  ordinaries,  where  they  fed, 
Would   charge  the  men  a  guinea  each  for 

chairs. 


62  DAUBER 

And  fiddlers  came,  all  dinner,  playing  airs, 
And     all     men     drank     champagne.     That 

would  seem  strange 
In  farmers'  inns  to-day  after  Exchange. 

^'  Well,  grandfer  had  the  farm  until  he  died. 

He  held  it  sixty  years  from  the  same  squire, 

He  saw  great  changes  in  that  country- 
side, 

And  miles  of  cornland  go  again  to  mire, 

And  men,  who'd  drunk  champagne,  without 
a  fire. 

For  corn  came  down  to  nothing  with  a 
run 

And  never  rose  after  the  wars  were  done. 

"Father  was  born  the  year  the  riots  were 
In  Bristol,  so  he  says;    my  grandma  said 
That  when  they  burnt  the  town  she  saw  the 
glare, 


DAUBER  63 

Making    the    sky    at    midnight    deep    dull 

red. 
She  saw  it  kindling  as  she  lay  in  bed 
Just  after  dad  was  born,  dad  in  the  cot, 
And  nurse  beside  her  snoring  like  a  sot. 

'*  Father  has  worked  the  farm  since  grandfer 

went; 
It  means  the  world  to  him,  I  can't  think 

why. 
They  bleed  him  to  the  last  half-crown  for 

rent, 
And  this  and  that  have  almost  milked  him 

dry. 
The  land's  all  starved;    if  he'd  put  money 

by, 
And  corn  was  up  and  rent  was  down  two- 
thirds.  ... 
But  then  they  aren't,  so  what's  the  use  of 

words  ? 


64  BAUBER 

"Yet  all  the  same  it  means  the  world  to 

him, 
The    Spital    Farm    that    he    and    grandfer 

made ; 
They've  given  their  lives  to  bring  it  into  ^ 

trim, 
They've  worn  out  many  a  plough  and  many 

a  spade. 
And  worked  a  many  a  cart-horse  to  a  jade, 
Dragging  the  waggons  off  the  empty  field; 
It's  his  life's  fight;   he  doesn't  like  to  yield.  " 

"And  then  his  life's  been  spent  there,  man 
and  boy; 

He  courted  mother  there,  and  lived  there 
after. 

He's  had  his  sixty  years  there,  and  his 
joy; 

He's  had  his  happy  blessings  and  his  laugh- 
ter. 


DAUBER  65 

He    cut    our   names    and    grandfer's  on    a 

rafter. 
He  hopes  his  children's  names,  when  he  is  ' 

cold, 
Wm  fill  the  rafter  full  as  it  will  hold. 

''He  couldn't  bear  to  see  the  Spital  pass 
To    strangers,    or    to   think    a   time   would 

come 
When  other  men  than  us  would  mow  the 

grass. 
And  other  names  than  ours  have  the  home. 
Some  sorrows  come  from  evil  thought,  but  ^ 

some 
Come  when  two  men  are  near  and  both  are^'^ 

bhnd 
To  what  is  generous  in  the  other's  mind.  ^ 

''My  mother  came  from  under  Meon  Hill; 
She  died  when  I  was  only  ten,  poor  woman ! 


66  DAUBER 

I  know  my  memory  of  her's  living  still, 
And  will,  I  hope,  as  long  as  I^m  a  human. 
For  no  man  had  a  mother  like  her,  no  man. 
She  wasn't  like  my  father:    rose  and  oak. 
It  wasn't  marriage,  but  the  Devil's  joke. 

"I  was  the  only  boy,  and  father  thought 
I'd  farm  the  Spital  after  he  was  dead. 
And  many  a  time  he  took  me  out  and  taught 
About   manures   and   seed-corn   white   and 

red. 
And  soils  and  hops ;  but  I'd  an  empty  head. 
Harvest  or  seed,  I  would  not  do  a  turn; 
I  loathed  the  farm,  I  didn't  want  to  learn. 

"After  my  mother  died,  when  I  was  ten, 
I   went   about   more   while   the   work   was 

doing. 
And,  being  a  boy,  I  Hked  to  help  the  men, 
And  taste  the  pomace  at  the  cider  screwing. 


DAUBER  67 

And  ride  the  plough  team  to  the  forge  for 

shoeing, 
Or  pick  in  hop  yard,  but  I  would  not  do 
The  harder  lessons  father  set  me  to. 

'^And  when  he  tried  to  teach  me  how  to 

plough, 
I  wanted  him  to  tell  me  how  the  earths 
Nourished  the  seed-corn  in  the  dark,  and 

how 
The  sun  and  rain  could  give  the  green  grass 

birth. 
And  why  there  was  no  remedy  for  dearth, 
And    such-like    simple    questionings ;     but 

when 
He  tried  to  tell,  I  was  for  ploughing  then. 

"He  did  not  mind  at  first,  he  thought  it 

youth 
Feeling  the  collar,  and  that  I  should  change ; 


68  BAUBEB 

j 

Then  time  gave  him  some  inklings  of  the  '^ 

truth, 
And  that  I  loathed  the  farm  and  wished  to  "^ 

range. 
Truth  to  a  man  of  fifty's  always  strange; 
It  was  most  strange  and  terrible  to  him;     ' 
It  took  his  lamp  just  when  his  light  grew  / 

dim. 

"  Yet  still  he  hoped  the  Lord  might  change 

my  mind. 
I'd  see  him  bridle-in  his  wrath  and  hate, 
And  almost  break  my  heart  he  was  so  kind, 
Biting  his  Hps  sore  with  resolve  to  wait. 
And  then  I'd  try  awhile:   but  it  was  Fate: 
I  didn't  want  to  learn ;  the  farm  to  me 
Was  mire  and  hopeless  work  and  misery. 

"  Though  there  were  things  I  loved  about  it, 
too, 


DAUBER  69 

The    beasts,    the    apple    trees,    and    going 

haying, 
And  then  I  tried ;  but  no,  it  wouldn't  do, 
The  farm  was  prison  and  my  thoughts  were 

straying. 
And    there' d    come    father,    with    his    grey' 

head,  praying. 
'Oh  my  dear  son,  don't  let  the  Spital  pass:' 
It's  my  old  home,  boy,  where  your  grandfer 

was. 

'''And  now  you  won't  learn  farming;   you 

don't  care; 
The  old  home's  nought  to  you.     I've  tried 

to  teach  you, 
I've  begged  Almighty  God,  boy,  all  I  dare. 
To  use  His  hand  if   word  of   mine  won't 

reach  you. 
Boy,  for  your  grandfer's  sake  I  do  beseech 

you, 


70  BAUBEB 

Don't    let    the    Spital    pass    to    strangers. 

Squire 
Has  said  he'd  give  it  you  if  we  require. 

" '  Your   mother   used   to   walk   here,    boy, 

with  me; 
It   was   her   favourite   walk   down   to   the 

mill, 
And  there  we'd  talk  how  Httle  death  would 

be  / 

Knowing  our  work  was  going  on  here  still. 
You've  got  the  brains,  you  only  want  the  ' 

will. 
Don't    disappoint   your    mother    and    your 

father. 
I'll  give  you  time  to  travel,  if  you^d  rather.' 

"  It  wasn't  travelling,  though,  that  filled  my 

mind ; 
I  could  forget  the  farm  by  wandering  out, 


DAUBEB,  71 

Tracing    the    little   brooks    and    trying    to 

find 
A  gravelly  stretch  with  belly-rubbing  trout. 
Or,  trickling  from  a  dock-leaf  in  the  spout, 
Beside  some  lonely  cottage  up  the  hill, 
The  source  of  waters  that  would  turn  our 

mill. 

'^That^s  what  I  loved,  water,  and  time  to 

read. 
Then   I'd   come   home   to   sister's   nagging 

tongue. 
Saying    my    sin    made    father's    heart    to 

bleed, 
And  how  she  feared  she^d  live  to  see  me 

hung. 
And   then   she'd   read    me    bits   from   Dr. 

Young, 
And  supper  would  begin,  and  sister  Jane 
Would  fillip  dad  till  dad  began  again. 


72  DAUBER 

'''I've  been  here  all  my  life,  boy.    I  was 

born 
Up  in  the  room  above,  looks  on  the  mead; 
I  never  thought  you'd  cockle  my  clean  corn 
And  leave  the  old  home  to  a  stranger's  seed. 
Father  and  I  have  made  here  'thout  a  weed : 
We've  give  our  Uves  to  make  that.    Eighty 

years. 
And  now  I  go  down  to  the  grave  in  tears.' 

"And  then  I'd  get  ashamed  and  take  off 
coat. 

And  work  maybe  a  week,  ploughing  or  sow- 
ing, 

And  then  I'd  creep  away  and  sail  my 
boat. 

Or  watch  the  water  when  the  mill  was 
going. 

That's  my  dehght,  to  be  near  water  flow- 
ing, 


DAUBER  73 

Dabbling  or  sailing  boats  or  jumping  stanks 
Or  finding  moorhens'  nests  along  the  banks. 

"  Then  dad  would  catch  me  come  away  from 

work, 
Going  along  the  water,  watching  things, 
And  lose  his  temper,  p'raps,   and  call  me 

shirk, 
And  then  we'd  words,  and  tears,  and  par- 

donings. 
And    then  I'd  work,  until    the  brooks  and 

springs 
Drew  me  away  again  to  my  heart's  joy. 
I  did  love  being  by  water  as  a  boy. 

*'  One  day  my  father  found  a  ship  I'd  built ; 
He  took  the  cart  whip  to  me  over  that. 
And  I,  half  mad  with  pain  and  sick  with 

guilt. 
Went  up  and  hid  in  what  we  called  the  flat : 


74  DAUBER 

A  dusty  hole  given  over  to  the  cat ; 

She  kittened  there,   the  kittens  had  worn 

paths 
Among    the    cobwebs,    dust,    and    broken 

laths. 

'^  So  there  I  blubbered  in  the  dust  awhile, 
With  bits  of  plaster  dropping  in  my  eyes. 
And  then  the  Httle  kittens  made  me  smile, 
They  were  so  cunning  planning  a  surprise. 
There  was  a  hole  with  sunHght  full  of  flies. 
And   they'd  come   creeping  up  and  pounce 

and  miss, 
And  I  got  interested,  watching  this. 

''And  putting  down  my  hand  between  the 

beams 
I  felt  a  leathery  thing  and  pulled  it  clear; 
A  book  with  white   cocoons   stuck  in   the 

seams ; 


DAUBER  75 

The  spiders  had  had  nests  there  many  a 

year. 
It  was  my  mother's  sketch-book ;  hid,  I  fear, 
Out  of  my  father's  sight :  he  couldn't  bear 
For  her  to  do  a  thing  he  couldn't  share. 

'^  There  were  her  drawings,  done  when  she 

was  a  girl. 
Before  she  knew  what  sorrow  was,  or  dad ; 
Before  she  put  her  front  hair  out  of  curl; 
She'd  leisure  then  for  drawing,  mother  had. 
She'd  hid  them  in  the  roof  Hke  something 

bad. 
Something    she   dare    not    show    or  felt   a 

shame  of, 
For  fear  of  being  chid  or  made  a  game  of. 

'^That    was   a    find    for    me,    that    was    a 

treasure, 
I  didn't  heed  my  cart-whip  weals  a  scrap. 


76  DAUBER 

And    most    the    valley    pictures    gave    me 

pleasure, 
With  fields  like  counties  in  a  printed  map, 
Or  Bredon  Hill  in  cloud  wearing  his  cap, 
Or  Meon   (where  she  played),   or  Sheepey 

Top, 
Or  sunny  hayfields  full  of   clover  cop. 

^'And  one  of  Bristol.  On  her  wedding- 
day 

They  went  to  Bristol  by  the  Gloucester 
mail. 

And  father  sparked  her  out  to  see  the  play, 

Maria's  Necklace  and  the  Winter's  Tale. 

There  was  the  yellow  playbill  withered 
pale. 

Stuck  in  the  book,  and  then  a  sketch  she 
did 

Before  she  stopped  being  Queen  or  father 
chid. 


BAUBEB  77 

^'  There  were  the  dates  upon  them,  pencilled 
faint ; 

March  was  the  last  one,  eighteen  sixty- 
three. 

Unfinished,  that,  for  tears  had  smeared  the 
paint ; 

The  rest  was  landscape  not  yet  brought  to 
be. 

That  was  a  holy  afternoon  to  me. 

That  book  a  sacred  book,  the  flat  a  place 

Where  I  could  meet  my  mother  face  to 
face. 

"  It  was  my  secret  room  from  that  time  on. 

0  many  a  golden  time  I  spent  up  there. 
Father  and  sister  wondered  where  I'd  gone. 
But  I  was  in  the  cobwebs,  in  my  lair, 

And  through  the  peephole  letting  in  the  air 

1  could  command  the  valley  at  a  look 
And  draw  it  on  a  blank  page  in  the  book. 


78  DAUBER 

"And  after  that  drawing  became  my  joy. 
I  cared  for  nothing  else.     I  drew,  I  drew 
Faster  than  dad  or  sister  could  destroy, 
For  everything  I  saw  I  tried  to  do. 
To  see  the  thing  distinct  and  get  it  true, 
And  catch  the  very  motion,  as  when  grass 
Or  corn  is  ruffled  when  the  flurries  pass. 

"  That  was  my  aim :  I  worked  at  that,  I 

toiled. 
And  every  penny  I  could  get  I  spent 
On  paints,  crayons,  or  paper  which  I  spoiled 
Up  in  the  attic  to  my  heart's  content. 
Till  one  day  father  asked  me  what  I  meant ; 
The  time  had  come,  he  said,  to  make  an  end ; 
Now  it  must  finish :  what  did  I  intend  ? 

'^  Either  I  took  to  farming,  like  his  son, 
In  which  case  he  would  teach  me,  early  and 
late 


DA  UBER  79 

(Provided  that  my  daubing  mood  was  done) 
Or  I  must  go :  it  must  be  settled  straight. 
If  I  refused  to  farm:  there  was  the  gate. 
I  was  to  choose,  his  patience  was  all  gone ; 
The  present  state  of  things  could  not  go  on. 

*' Sister  was  there,  she  eyed  me  while  he 
spoke, 

The  kitchen  clock  ran  down  and  struck  the 
hour, 

And  something  told  me  father's  heart  was 
broke. 

For  all  he  stood  so  set  and  looked  so  sour. 

Jane  took  a  duster  and  began  to  scour 

A  pewter  on  the  dresser;  she  was  crying. 

I  stood  stock  still  a  long  time,  not  reply- 
ing. 

^^^Well,  Joe,'  said  Dad,  Vhich  is  it  going 
to  be?' 


V 

.  / 


80  DAUBER 

He    waited;     I    said    nothing;     the    clock 

ticked ; 
The  cat  with  half-closed  eyes  purred  at  us 

three ; 
The  wagging  corner  of  the  duster  flicked. 
I  felt  like  a  traitor  in  a  story,  tricked, 
My   secret   writings   found,    my   plots   laid 

bare. 
And  my  king  come  for  me  to  answer  there. 

"  Dad  waited,  then  he  snorted  and  turned 

round, 
'Well,  think  of    it,'    he  said;    he  left  the 

room. 
His    boots    went    clop     along    the    stony 

ground 
Out  to  the  orchard  and  the  apple  bloom. 
A  cloud  came  over  the  sun  and  made  a 

gloom. 
I  swallowed  with  dry  lips ;  then  sister  turned. 


DAUBEB  81 

She  was  dead  white  but  for  her  eyes  that 
burned. 

*^ 'You're  breaking  father's  heart,  Joe,"  she 

began. 
'It's  not  as  if  .  .  .'  she  checked,  in  too  much 

pain. 
'^0  Joe,  don't  help  to  kill  so  fine  a  man. 
You're  giving  him  our  mother  over  again. 
It's  wearing  him  to  death,  Joe,  heart  and 

brain. 
You  know  what  store  he  sets  on  leaving  this 
To  (it's  too  cruel) — to  a  son  of  his. 

" '  Yet  you  go  painting  aU  the  day.    Oh, 

Joe, 
Couldn't  you  make  an  effort?    Can't  you 

see 

^ 

What    folly   it    is    of  yours?    It's    not    as 
though 


82  DAUBEB 

/ 

You  are  a  genius  or  could  ever  be. 
Oh,  Joe,  for  father's  sake,  if  not  for  me 
Give   up    this    craze   for   painting   and   be 

wise, 
And  work  with  father,  where  your  duty  lies/^ 


"'It  goes  too  deep,'  I  said;    'I  loathe  the 

farm; 
I  couldn't  help,  even  if  I'd  the  mind. 
Even  if  I  helped  I'd  only  do  him  harm. 
Father  would  see  it  if  he  were  not  bhnd. 
I  was  not  built  to  farm,  as  he  would  find. 
Oh,  Jane,  it's  bitter  hard  to  stand  alone, 
And    spoil    my    father's    hfe    or    spoil   my 

own.' 

'''Spoil  both,'    she  said,    'the  way  you're 

shaping  now. 
You're  only  a  boy  not  knowing  your  own 

good. 


DAUBER  83 

Where  will  you  go,  suppose  you  leave  here? 

how 
Do  you  propose  to  earn  your  daily  food? 
Draw?    Daub  the  pavements?    There's  a 

feckless  brood 
Goes  to  the  devil  daily,  Joe,  in  cities 
Only  from  thinking  how  divine  their  wit  is. 

"'Clouds  are  they,  without  water,  carried 
away, 

And  you'll  be  one  of  them,  the  way  you're 
going. 

Daubing  at  silly  pictures  all  the  day 

And  praised  by  silly  fools  who're  always 
blowing. 

And  you  choose  this  when  you  might  go 
a-sowing. 

Casting  the  good  com  into  chosen  mould 

That  shall  in  time  bring  forth  a  hundred- 
fold.' 


84  DAUBER 

"So  we  went  on,  but  in  the  end,  it  ended. 
I  felt  I'd  done  a  murder,  I  felt  sick.  ^ 
There's  much  in  human  minds  cannot  be 

mended, 
And  that,  not  I,  played  dad  a  cruel  trick. 
There  was  one  mercy:  that  it  ended  quick." 
It  did    not    drag    along    through    years    of 

care. 
Spoiling  our  lives   and   ending  in   despair. 

"And  then  I  joined  my  mother's  brother: 

he 
Kept    school    at    Braddoclode    by    Severn 

stream ; 
A  man  so  broken  down  by  misery 
His  life  went  by  him  in  a  kind  of  dream. 
But  sometimes  in  his  eyes  there' d  come  a 

gleam 
Remembering   one   he'd   loved   there   years 

before, 


DAUBER  85 

Drowned  by  the  tide,  poor  woman,  off  the 

shore.  ^ 

^'And  there  I  learned  house-painting  for  a 

living; 
I'd  have  been  happy  there,  but  that  I  knew 
I'd  sinned  before  my  father  past  forgiving,^' 
And  that  they  sat  at  home,  that  silent  two. 
Wearing    the    fire    out    and    the    evening 

through. 
Silent,  defeated,  broken,  in  despair, 
My  plate   unset,  my  name   gone,   and  my 

chair. 

"Sitting  and  hardly  talking:  father  think- 
ing 

How  when  he  died  the  auctioneers  would  sit 

Blue-penciUing  their  Hsts  where  he  sat; 
drinking, 

Marking  the  sales  or  knocking  off  to  spit. 


86  DAUBER 

The  glass  would  be  all  broke,  the  grate 
unlit, 

The  beasts  gone  from  the  barton :  auction 
bnis 

Stuck  on  the  trees  or  hung  from  window- 
sills. 

"And    boot-marks    and    cigar-ends  on    the 

grass. 
And  the  old  name  gone  from  the  ancient 

hold, 
And    none    but    Jane    to    see    the    Spital 

pass 
To  one  who  had  not  walked  its  fields  of 

old; 
And  strangers  there,  before  his  blood  was 

cold 
Down  in  the  grave,  changing  his  old  routine, 
Putting    the    tallat    where    the    oasts   had 

been. 


DAUBER  87 

"  I  saw  all  that ;  and  sister  Jane  came  white, 
White  as  a  ghost,  with  fiery  weeping  eyes, 
I  saw  her  all  day  long  and  half  the  night, 
Bitter  as  gall,  and  passionate  and  wise. 
^Joe,  you  have  killed    your  father:    there 

he  Hes. 
You  have  done  your  work,  you  with  our 

mother's  ways.' 
She  said  it  plain,  and  then  her  eyes  would 

blaze. 

''And  then  one  day  I  had  a  job  to  do, 
Down  below  bridge,   by  where  the  docks 

begin  ; 
And  there  I  saw  a  chpper  towing  through 
The  open  gates;    she  was  just  entering  in. 
Raked  to  the  nines  she  was,  lofty  and  thin, 
A  skysail-yarded  clipper  so  well  kept 
She    glistened     like     a     racehorse    as    she 

stepped. 


88  DAUBER 

^'That    altered  life    for    me;    I  had  never 

seen 
A  ship  before,  for  all  my  thought  of  ships ; 
And    there   was    this   great    clipper   hke    a 

queen, 
With  a  white  curl  of  bubbles  at  her  lips, 
All  made  of  beauty  to  the  stern's  ellipse, 
Her  ensign  rufHing  red,  her  bunts  in  pile. 
Beauty  and  strength  together,  wonder,  style. 

"She  docked  close  to  the  gates  and  there 

she  lay 
Over  the  stream  from  me,  but  well  in  sight. 
And  as  I  worked  I  watched  her  all  the  day, 
Finding  her  beauty  ever  fresh  deUght. 
Her  house-flag  was  bright  green  with  strips 

of  white; 
High  in  the  sunny  air  it  rose  to  shake 
Above    the    skysail    poles'    most    splendid 
rake. 


BAUBEB  89 

'Tor   six  weeks  more   I  was  kept  painting 

there 
Down  below  bridge,  where   all  the   river's 

salt, 
And  every  day  her  beauty  seemed  more  fair, 
And  came  more  home  to  make  my  heart 

exalt. 
Her  lines,  her  spiring  masts  without  a  fault, 
Her  fan  of  mighty  rigging  reaching  down: 
She  was  a  thing  too  queenly  for  a  crown. 

"I  wasn't  happy  then;  I  felt  too  keenly 
How  hard  it  is  to  paint;  but  when  I  saw 
Her  masts  across  the  river  rising  queenly, 
Built    out    of    so    much    chaos   brought    to 

law, 
I   learned   the   power   of   knowing  how   to' 

draw,  / 

Of   beating   thought  into  the   perfect   Hne,   \ 
I  vowed  to  make  that  power  of  beauty  mine. 


90  DAUBER 

"And   when   I   felt  unhappy  I  would   look 
Over   the  river   at  her,   and   her  pride, 
So   calm,    so   quiet,    came   as   a   rebuke 
To  half  the  passionate  pathways  which  I 

tried. 
And  though  the  green  leaves  browned  and 

brown  leaves  died. 
And  dead   leaves  fell  and    cold   November 

came, 
She  was  still  splendid  there,  and  still  the 

same. 

"Then  on  a  day  she  sailed;   but  when  she 

went 
My  mind  was  clear  on  what  I  had  to  try ; 
To  see  the  sea  and  ships  and  what  they 

meant. 
That  was  the  thing  I  longed  to  do;  so  I 
Drew  and   worked   hard   and   studied,  and 

put  by. 


DAUBER  91 

And  thought  of  nothing  else  but  that  one 

end, 
But  let  all  else  go  hang :  love,  money,  friend. 

'^And  now  I've  shipped  as  Dauber  IVe  be- 
gun. 

It  was  hard  work  to  find  a  dauber's  berth. 

I  hadn't  any  friends  to  find  me  one; 

Only  my  skill,  for  what  it  may  be  worth. 

But  I'm  at  sea  now,  going  about  the  earth, 

And  when  the  ship's  paid  off,  when  we  re- 
turn, 

I'll  join  some  Paris  studio  and  learn. 

"I  shan't  be  much  too  old  to  join  a  school. 
I  want    to    learn    my    craft;     I    want    to 

show 
Father  and  sister  that  I'm  not  a  fool. 
And  that  the  world   has  thought  me  wise 

to  go. 


92  DAUBER 

It  makes  my  heart  ache  thinking  of  them, 

though, 
For  even  if  my  painting  made  a  blaze, 
They^d   think  me  sinner  still;    they  would 

not  praise.'^ 

He  stopped,  the  air  came  moist ;  Si  did  not 

speak; 
The  Dauber  turned  his  eyes  to  where  he 

sat, 
Pressing    the    sail-room    hinges    with    his 

cheek. 
His    face    half    covered    with    a    drooping 

hat. 
Huge  dewdrops  from  the  staysails  dropped 

and  spat. 
Si   did   not   stir,    the   Dauber   touched   his 

sleeve, 
A     Httle     birdlike     noise     came     from     a 

sheave. 


DAUBEB  93 

Si  was  asleep,  sleeping  a  calm,  dead  sleep  ; 
Still  as   a  warden   of   the   Egyptian   dead, 
In  some  old  haunted  temple  buried   deep 
Under   the   desert   sand   sterile  and  red. 
The  Dauber   shook  his   arm.      Si  jumped, 

and  said, 
''Good  yarn,  I  swear.    I  say,  you  have  a 

brain  ; 
Was  that  eight  bells  that  went?"  he  slept 

again. 

One  bell  was  struck  ;  one  bell.     The  watch 

was  called. 
A  match  flared  in  the  half-deck  and  went 

out. 
Forward,     within     the     fo'c's'le,     someone 

bawled. 
The  reefer  in  the  half-deck  raised  his  shout. 
Each  sleeper  slowly  roused,  bHnked  Uke  a 

lout. 


94  BAUBEE 

Cursed,    fumbled    for    his    pipe    in    sleep^s 

thick  fog, 
And  then  relapsed,  dead  heavy,  like  a  log. 

Si  rubbed  his  eyes:    ^'IVe  had  a  nap,"  he 

said. 
^^Was  that  one  bell?    What,  Dauber,  you 

still  here?" 
''Si,   there,"   the  mate's  voice  called  from 

overhead. 
The    order    made    the    lad's    thick    vision 

clear ; 
A    something    in    the    mate's    voice    made 

him  fear. 
''Si,"  said  the  mate,  "I  hear  you've  made 

a  friend  ; 
Dauber,    in    short.    That    friendship's    got 

to  end. 

"You're  a    young  gentleman.    Your   place 
aboard 


DAUBER  95 

Is  with  the  gentlemen,   abaft  the  mast, 
You're    learning    to   command ;    you    can't 

afford 
To    yarn  with   any   man.     But   there  .  .  . 

It's  past. 
You've  done  it  once ;  let  this  time  be  the 

last. 
The    Dauber's    place    is    forward.     Do    it 

again, 
I'll    put    you    bunking    forward    with    the 

men. 

"Dismiss."     Si  went;  but  Sam,  beside  the 

mate, 
Time-keeper  there,  walked  with  him  to  the 

rail 
And  whispered    him  the  menace  of    "You 

wait"; 
Words  which  have  turned  full  many  a  reefer 

pale. 


96  DAUBER 

The  watch  was  changed :  the  watch  on  deck 

trimmed  sail. 
Sam,    going    below,    called    all   the   reefers 

down, 
Sat   in   his   bunk,   and  eyed  them  with  a 

frown. 

'^Si,  here,''  he  said,  ^'has  spoiled  the  half- 

deck's  name. 
Talking   to    Dauber  —  Dauber,    the   ship's 

clout. 
A  reefer  takes  the  Dauber  for  a  flame ; 
The  half-deck  take  the  roundhouse  walking 

out. 
He's  soiled  the  half-deck's  honour.    Now, 

no  doubt 
The  bosun  and  his  mates  will  come  here 

sneaking. 
Asking  for  smokes,   or  blocking  gangways 

speaking. 


DAUBER  97 

"I'm  not  a  vain  man,   given   to   blow  or 

boast  ; 
I'm  not  a  proud  man  ;  but  I  truly  feel 
That  while  I've  bossed  this  mess  and  ruled 

this  roast 
I've  kept   this  hooker's  half-deck  damned 

genteel. 
Si  must  ask  pardon,  or  be  made  to  squeal. 
Down  on  your  knees,  dog  ;  them  we  love  we 

chasten. 
Joa,  pasea,  my  son;   in  Enghsh,  hasten." 

Si  begged  for  pardon,  meekly  kneeUng  down 
Before  the  reefers'  mess  assembled  grim. 
The  lamp  above  them  smoked  the  glass  all 

brown  ; 
Beyond   the   door   the   dripping  sails  were 

dim. 
The  Dauber  passed  the  door ;  none  spoke  to 

him. 

H 


98  DAUBER 

He  sought  his  berth  and  slept,  or,  waking, 

heard 
Rain  on  the  deck-house  ;  rain,  no  other  word. 

IV 

The  glorious  northers  lasted  from  the 
Trades. 

They,  too,  were  dropped,  and  still  the  ship 
did  shoulder 

The  brilhance  of  the  water's  white  cockades 

Into  the  milky  green  of  smoky  smoulder. 

The  sky  grew  bluer  and  the  air  grew  colder ; 

Southward  she  thundered  while  the  northers 
held. 

Proud,  with  taut  bridles,  pawing,  but  com- 
pelled. 

And  still  the  Dauber  strove,  though  all  men 
mocked, 


DAUBER  99 

To    draw    the    splendour    of    the    passing 

thing; 
And    deep    inside    his    heart    a    something 

locked, 
Long    pricking    in    him,    now    began    to 

sting 
A  fear  of  the  disasters  storm  might  bring. 
His  rank  as  painter  would  be  ended  then; 
He  would  keep  watch,  and  watch  like  other 

men. 

And  go  aloft  high  on  the  yellow  yard, 
When  the  great  ship  was  rolling  scuppers 

under, 
Burying  her  snout  all  round  the  compass 

card. 
While  the  green  water  struck  at  her  and 

stunned  her; 
When    the    lee-rigging    slacked,   when   one 

long  thunder 


100  DAUBER 

Boomed  from  the  black  to  windward,  when 

the  sail 
Booted  and  spurred  the   devil  in  the   gale 

For   him   to  ride   on   men :    that   was   the 

time 
The  Dauber  dreaded;    then  the  test  would 

come, 
When  seas,   half-frozen,   slushed  the  decks 

with  slime 
And    all    the    air    was    blind    with    flying 

scum; 
When  the  great  sails  were  furled,  when  the 

fierce  hum 
Of  the  weather  rigging  died  in  the  great 

roar 
Of  the  southwester  never  tamed  by  shore. 

He  looked  aloft.    He  had  once  worked  aloft. 
Shifting  her  suits  one  summer  afternoon, . 


daubeU     ;,  ;    ;  1)1 

In  the  bright  Trade  wind,  when  the  wind 

was  soft, 
Shaking    the    points,    making    the    tackle 

croon : 
But  that  was  child's  play  to  the  future; 

soon 
He  would  be  ordered  up  when  sails  and 

spars 
Were    flying    and    going    mad    among    the 

stars. 

He  had  been  afi-aiSShat  first  time ;  daunted, 

thrilled, 
Not    by    the  height    so    much    as  by   the 

size ;  / 

And  then  the  danger  to  the  man  unskilled 
In  standing  on  a  rope  that  runs  through 

eyes. 
''But  in  a  storm,"  he  thought,  ''when  the 

yards  rise 


/ 


,iO^;  -;';■'■:;     :  /;      dauber 

And  roll  all  down  together,  and  snap  their 

gear !  '^ 
The  sweat  came  cold  upon  his  palms  for 

fear. 

Even  ashore  he  had  sometimes  felt  a  pang, 
Swinging  below  the  house-eaves  on  a  stage; 
But  stages  carry  rails  :  here  he  would  hang 
Upon  a  jerking  rope  in  a  storm's  rage. 
Ducked,   that   the   sheltering  oilskin   might 

assuage 
The  beating  of  the  storm,  clutching  the  jack, 
Beating  the  sail  and  being  beaten  back. 

Drenched,  frozen,  gasping,  blinded,  beaten 

dumb. 
High   in   the   night,   reeling   great  blinding 

arcs 
As  the  ship  rolled,  his  chappy  fingers  numb. 
The  deck  below  a  narrow  blur  of  marks, 


DAUBEB  103 

The   sea   a  welter   of  whiteness   shot   with 

sparks 
Now    snapping    up    in    bursts,    now    dying 

away, 
Salting  the  horizontal  snow  with  spray. 

A  hundred  and  thirty  feet  above  the  deck, 
And  there,  while  the  ship  rolls,  boldly  to 

sit 
Upon  a  footrope  moving,   jerk  and  check. 
While  half-a-dozen  seamen  work  on  it. 
Held  by  one  hand,  straining,  by  strength 

and  wit. 
To  toss  a  gasket^s  coil  around  the  yard : 
How  could  he  compass  that,  when  blowing 

hard? 

And  if  he  failed  in  any  least  degree, 

Or  faltered  for  an  instant,  or  showed  slack,' 

He  might  go  drown  himself  in  the  deep  sea, 


104  BAUBEB 

And  add  seven  bubbles  to  the  clipper's 
track. 

He  had  signed  his  name ;  there  was  no  turn- 
ing back, 

No  pardon  for  default;  this  must  be  done.^ 

One  iron  rule  at  sea  binds  everyone. 

Till   now   he   had  been  treated   with  con-"'" 

tempt, 
As  neither  man  nor  thing :  a  creature  borne 
On  the  ship's  articles  but  left  exempt    ^ 
From    all    the    seamen's    life    except    their  ' 

scorn. 
But  he  would  rank  as  seaman  off  the  Horn ; 
Work  as  a  seaman,  and  be  kept  or  cast 
By  standards  set  for  men  before  the  mast. 

Even  now  they  shifted  suits  of  sails;    they 

bent 
The  storm-suit  ready  for  the  expected  time. 


DAUBER  105 

The  mighty  norther  that  the  Plate  had  lent 
Had    brought    them    far    into    the    wintry 

clime. 
At  dawn,  out  of  the  shadow,  there  was  rime ; 
The  dim  Magellan  clouds  were  frosty  clear, 
The  wind  had  edge,  the  testing  time  was 

near. 

And  then  he  wondered  if  the  tales  were  lies 
Told  by  old  hands  to  terrify  the  new;    "^ 
For,  since  the  ship  left  England,  only  twice 
Had  there  been  need  to  start  a  sheet  or 

clew ; 
Then  only  royals,  for  an  hour  or  two, 
And  no  seas  broke  aboard,  nor  was  it  cold. 
What  were  these  gales  of  which  the  stories 

told? 

The  thought  went  by.     He  had  heard  the 
bosun  tell 


106  DAUBEB 

Too  often  and  too  fiercely  not  to  know 
That  being  off  the  Horn  in  June  is  hell; 
Hell  of  continual  toil  in  ice  and  snow, 
Wet  through  for  weeks,  hearing  the  wester 

blow. 
Blow  —  shriek     aloud     for     weeks.      Hear 

without  check 
The  thunder  of  green  seas  bursting  white 

on  deck. 

Such  was  the  weather   he   might   look   to 

find, 
Such   was    the   work   expected :     there   re- 
mained 
Firmly  to  set  his  teeth,  resolve  his  mind. 
And  be  the  first,  however  much  it  pained. 
And  bring  his  honour  round  the  Horn  un- 
stained 
And   win   his   mates^   respect,    and   thence, 
untainted. 


DAUBER  107 

Be    ranked    as    man,   however    much    he 
painted. 

He  drew  deep  breath;    a  gantline  swayed 

aloft 
A  new  lower  topsail  hard  with  rope  and 

leather, 
Such  as  men's  frozen  fingers  fight  with  oft 
Below  the  Ramirez  in  Cape  Horn  weather, 
The  arms  upon  the  yard  hove  gjl  together, 
Lighting  the  head  along;  a  thought  oc- 
curred 
Within  the  Painter's  brain  like  a  bright 
bird. 

That  this,  and  so  much  hke  it,  of  man's 

toil 
Compassed  by  naked  manhood  in  strange 

places. 
Was  all  heroic,  but  outside  the  coil 


108  DAUBER 

Within  which  modern  art  gleams  or  gri- 
maces, 

That  if  he  drew  that  Une  of  sailors'  faces 

Sweating  the  sail,  their  passionate  play  and 
change, 

It  would  be  new  and  wonderful  and 
strange. 

/ 
That  was  what  going  aloft  meant,  it  would ^ 

be 

A  training  in  new  vision,  a  revealing 

Of  passionate  men  in  battle  with  the 
sea 

High  on  an  unseen  stage  shaking  and  reel- 
ing, 

And  men  through  him  would  understand 
their  feeling 

Their  might,  their  misery,  their  tragic 
power, 

And  all  by  suffering  pain  a  little  hour, 


DAUBEB  109 

High  on  the  yard  with  them,  feeling  their 

pain, 
Batthng  with  them;    and  it  had  not  been 

done. 
He   was    a   door    to    new   worlds   in    the 

brain, 
A  window  opening  letting  in  the  sun, 
A  voice  saying,  ''Thus  is  bread  fetched  and 

ports  won,  / 

And    Ufe    lived    out    at    sea    where    men 

exist 
Solely  by  man's   strong  brain  and  sturdy 

wrist." 

Wonders  of  marvellous  pictures  touched  his 

thought ; 
He  would  endure  it  all,  endure  and  learn. 
Sharing  the  life  till  every  gleam  was  caught 
In  agony's  bitter  etchings  that  so  burn. 
Then  months  of  training  after  his  return, 


110  DAUBER 

And  then  the  dream  fulfilled,  the  power  to 

show 
All  he  had  seen  and  had  the  power  to  know. 

So  he  decided  as  he  cleaned  his  brasses, 
Heading  without,  aloft,  the  curse,  the  shout 
Where   the   taut    gantline    passes    and    re- 
passes 
Heaving  new  topsails  to  be  lighted  out. 
It    was    most    proud,    however    self    might 

doubt. 
To  share  man^s  tragic  toil  and  paint  it  true.   , 
He  took  the  offered  Fate :  this  he  would  do. 

That  night  the  snow  fell  between  six  and 

seven, 
A  little  feathery  fall  so  light,  so  dry. 
An  aimless  dust  out  of  a  confused  heaven, 
Upon  an  air  no  steadier  than  a  sigh. 
The  powder  dusted  down  and  wandered  by, 


DAUBER  111 

So  purposeless,  so  many,  and  so  cold, 
Then   died   and   the  wind   ceased   and   the 
ship  rolled. 

Rolled  till  she  clanged,  rolled  till  the  brain 

was  tired 
Marking  the  acme  of  the  heaves,  the  pause. 
While   the  sea-beauty  rested   and   respired. 
Drinking   great   draughts   of   roller   at   her 

hawse. 
Flutters  of  snow  came  aimless  upon  flaws. 
*'Lock    up    your    paints,^'    the    mate    said, 

speaking  light, 
''This  is  the  Horn;    you'll  join  my  watch 

to-night." 


All  through  the  windless  night  the  clipper 

rolled 
In  a  great  swell  with  oily  gradual  heaves 


112  DAUBER 

Which  rolled  her  down  until  her  time-bells 
tolled 

Clang,  and  the  weltering  water  moaned  hke 
beeves. 

The  thundering  rattle  of  slatting  shook  the 
sheaves, 

Startles  of  water  made  the  swing  ports 
gush. 

The  sea  was  moaning  and  sighing  and  say- 
ing ^^Hush!'^ 

It    was    all    black    and    starless.     Peering 

down 
Into  the  water  trying  to  pierce  the  gloom. 
One   saw  a  dim,   smooth,    oily    glitter    of 

brown 
Heaving  and  dying  away  and  leaving  room 
For  yet  another.     Like  the  march  of  doom 
Came    those    great    powers    of    marching 

silences ; 


DAUBER  113 

Then  fog  came   down,  dead  cold,  and  hid 
the  seas. 

They    set    the    Dauber    to    the    fog-horn. 

There 
He  stood  upon  the  poop,  making  to  sound 
Out  of  the  pump  the  sailors'  nasal  blare. 
Listening  lest  ice  should  make  the  note  re- 
sound. 
She  bayed  there  like  a  solitary  hound 
Lost  in  a  covert,  all  the  watch  she  bayed ; 
The  fog,   come   closelier   down,   no   answer 
made. 

Denser  it  grew,  until  the  ship  was  lost; 

The  elemental  hid  her,  she  was  merged 

In   mufflings  of   dark   death,  like   a  man's 

ghost 
New  to   the   change  of   death,  yet    thither 

urged. 


114  DAUBER 

Then   from   the   hidden   waters   something 

surged 
Mournful,    despairing,    great,    greater    than 

speech, 
A  noise  Uke  one  slow  wave  on  a  still  beach. 

Mournful,   and  then  again,   mournful,   and 

still 
Out  of  the  night  that  mighty  voice  arose, 
The  Dauber  at  his  fog-horn  felt  the  thrill : 
Who  rode  that  desolate  sea?    What  forms 

were  those? 
Mournful,    from    things    defeated,    in    the 

throes 
Of    memory    of    some    conquered    hunting 

ground, 
Out  of  the  night  of  death  arose  the  sound. 

''Whales,"    said    the    mate.     They    stayed 
there  all  night  long, 

n   .-f        vi/  >;    f^        ,^        U^  ^  |L/ 


BAUBEB  115 

Answering  the  horn,  out  of  the  night  they 

spoke, 
Defeated  creatures  who  had  suffered  wrong 
But  were  still  noble  underneath  the  stroke. 
They  filled  the  darkness  when  the  Dauber 

woke ; 
The  men  came  peering  to  the  rail  to  hear 
And  the  sea  sighed  and  the  fog  rose  up 

sheer, 

A  wall  of  nothing  at  the  world's  last  edge, 
Where  no  life  came  except  defeated  life. 
The  Dauber  felt  shut  in  within  a  hedge 
Behind  which  form  was  hidden  and  thought 

was  rife, 
And  that  a  blinding  flash,  a  thrust,  a  knife. 
Would  sweep  the  hedge  away  and  make  all 

plain, 
BriUiant    beyond    all    words,  blinding    the 

brain. 


\. 


116  DAUBER 

So  the  night  passed,  but  then  no  morning 

broke, 
Only  a  something  showed  that  night  was 

dead, 
A  sea  bird,  cackHng  hke  a  devil,  spoke. 
And    the    fog    drew   away   and    hung    like 

lead : 
Like    mighty    cliffs   it    shaped,    sullen    and 

red. 
Like     glowering     gods     at     watch     it     did 

appear. 
And  sometimes  drew  away  and  then  drew 

near, 

Like  islands  and  like  chasms  and  like  hell, 
But   always  mighty  and  red,   gloomy  and 

ruddy. 
Shutting  the  visible  sea  in  like  a  well. 
Slow-heaving    in    vast    ripples    blank    and 

muddy, 


DAUBER  117 

Where  the  sun  should  have  risen  it  streaked 

bloody; 
The   day  was   still-born;    all   the   sea-fowl 

scattering 
Splashed  the  still  water,  mewing,  hovering,    ^ 

clattering. 

Then  Polar  snow  came  down  little  and  light, 
Till  all  the  sky  was  hidden  by  the  small. 
Most  multitudinous  drift  of  dirty  white 
Tumbling  and  wavering  down  and  covering 

all. 
Covering  the  sky,  the  sea,  the  clipper  tall. 
Furring  the   ropes  with  white,   casing    the 

mast. 
Coming  on  no  known  air,  but  blowing  past. 

And  all  the  air  seemed  full  of  gradual  moan. 
As  though  in  those  cloud-chasms  the  horns 
were  blowing 


118  DAUBER 

The  mort  for  gods  cast  out  and  over- 
thrown, 

Or  for  the  eyeless  sun  plucked  out  and 
going. 

Slow  the  slow  gradual  moan  came  in  the 

snowing, 

•/ 
The   Dauber   felt   the  prelude   had  begun. 

The   snowstorm   fluttered   by,   he   saw   the 

sun 

Show  and  pass  by,  gleam  from  one  towering 

prism 
Into  another,  vaster  and  more  grim, 
Which  in  dull  crags  of  darkness  had  arisen 
To  muffle-to  a  final  door  on  him; 
The  gods  upon  the  dull  crags  lowered  dim, 
The   pigeons   chattered,    quarrelling  in   the 

track. 
In   the   southwest   the  dimness    duUed   to 

black. 


DAUBER  119 

Then  came  the  cry  of:    '^Call  all  hands  on 

deck.'^ 
The    Dauber    knew    its    meaning;     it    was 

come :  / 

Cape  Horn,  that  tramples  beauty  into  wreck       \ 
And  crumples  steel  and  smites  the  strong       \ 

•s  man  dumb. 
Down  clattered  flying  kites  and  staysails : 

some 
Sang  out  in  quick,  high  calls ;   the  fairleads 

skirled, 
And  from  the  southwest  came  the  end  of      >^ 

the  world. 

^'Caught  in  her  ball  dress,"  said  the  bosun, 
hauling. 

'^Lee-ay,  lee-ay!"  quick,  high,  came  the 
men's  call, 

It  was  all  wallop  of  sails  and  startled  call- 
ing : 


120  DAUBER 

'^Let  fly,"  ^^Let  go,"  '^Clue  up,"  and  ''Let 
go  all," 

''Now  up  and  make  them  fast."  "Here, 
give  us  a  haul," 

"Now  up  and  stow  them.  Quick!  By- 
God,  we're  done." 

The  blackness  crunched  all  memory  of  the 
sun. 

"Up,"  said  the  mate.     "Mizen  topgallants. 

Hurry!" 
The     Dauber     ran,     the    others    ran,    the 

sails 
Slatted    and    shook;    out    of    the    black    a 

flurry. 
Whirled  in  fine  lines  tattering  the  edge  to 

trails; 
Painting    and    art    and    England    were   old 

tales 
Told  in  some  other  life  to  that  pale  man 


DAUBER  121 

Who  struggled  with  white  fear  and  gulped 
and  ran. 

He  struck  a  ringbolt  in  his  haste  and  fell, 
Rose,  sick  with  pain,  half-lamed  in  his  left 

knee 
He  reached  the  shrouds,  where  clambering 

men  pell-mell 
Hustled  each  other  up  and  cursed  him;   he 
Hurried  aloft  with  them:    then  from   the 

sea 
Came  a  cold,  sudden  breath  that  made  the  " 

hair 

,  / 
Stiff  on  the  neck  as  though  Death  whis- 
pered there. 

A    man   below  him   punched    him   in   the 

side : 
''Get    up    you,     Dauber,    or    let    me    get 

past." 


122  DAUBER 

He  saw  the  belly  of  the  skysail  skied, 
Gulped,  and  clutched  tight,  and  tried  to  go 

more  fast; 
Sometimes  he  missed  his  rathne  and  was 

grassed, 
Scraped  his  shin  raw  against  the  rigid  line ; 
The  clamberers  reached  the  futtock-shrouds' 

incHne. 

Cursing  they  came;  one,  kicking  out  be- 
hind 

Kicked  Dauber  in  the  mouth,  and  one  below 

Punched  at  his  calves;  the  futtock-shrouds 
inclined  — 

It  was  a  perilous  path  for  one  to  go. 

'^Up,  Dauber,  up  !"  a  curse  followed  a  blow; 

He  reached  the  top  and  gasped,  then  on, 
then  on. 

And  one  voice  yelled  ^'Let  go!"  and  one 
''All  gone!" 


DAUBER  123 

Fierce  clamberers,  some  in  oilskins,  some  in 


Hustling    and   hurrying    up,    up    the    steep 

stairs. 
Before  the  windless  sails  were  blown  to  flags 
And  whirled  like  dirty  birds  athwart  great 

airs, 
Ten  men  in  all,  to  get  this  mast  of  theirs 
Snugged  to  the  gale  in  time.     *^Up,  danm 

you,  run !  '^ 
The  mizen  topmast  head  was  safely  won. 

*'Lay  out!'^  the  bosun  yelled:  the  Dauber 

laid 
Out  on  the  yard,   gripping  the  yard,   and 

feeling 
Sick  at  the  mighty  space  of  air  displayed' 
Below  his  feet,   where  mewing  birds   were 

wheeling ;  / 

A  giddy  fear  was  on  him,  he  was  reeling, 


124  DAUBER 

He  bit  his  lip  half  through,  clutching  the 

jack ; 
A   cold    sweat    glued    the    shirt    upon    his 

back. 

The  yard  shook  to  men's  feet,  a  brace  was 

loose, 
He   felt    that   he  would   fall,   he   bent,  he 

bent, 
Clanuny     with     natural     terror     to      the 

shoes, 
While  idiotic  promptings  came  and  went. 
Then  the  great  soul  of  his  serene  intent 
Came   winging  warm   upon  him,    hke   new 

blood. 
Tingling  each  nerve,  making  each  channel 

good. 

To  unknown  strength,  the  shock  passed,  ho 
could  look 


DAUBER  125 

Forward,  where,   on  the  main,   the  skysail 

high, 
Though   now   half  smothered,  kicked   aloft 

and  shook 
Over  the  straining  heads  of  Sam  and  Si. 
A  whirl  of  pellets  of  little  snow  drove  by. 
He  saw  the  water  darken.     Someone  yelled : 
''Frap  it!   don't  stay  to  furl.     Hold   on!" 

He  held. 

Darkness  came  down,   half  darkness,  in  a 

whirl ; 
The  sky  went  out,  the  waters  disappeared. 
He  felt  a  shocking  pressure  of  blowing  hurl 
The    ship    upon    her    side;    the    darkness 

speared 
At    her    with    wind,    she    staggered,    she 

careered, 
Then  down  she  lay,   the  Dauber  felt  her 

go, 


126  DAUBER 

He  saw  his  yard  tilt  downwards  ;  then  the 
snow 

Whirled   all    about,     dense,    multitudinous, 

cold. 
Mixed  with   the  wind's  one  devilish  thrust 

and  shriek 
Which  whiffled  out  men's  tears,  deafened, 

took  hold, 
Flattening  the  flying  drift  against  the  cheek. 
The  yards  buckled  and  bent,  man  could  not 

speak; 
The  ship  lay  on  her  side  and  the  wind's 

sound 
Had    devilish    malice    at    having    got    her 

downed. 

At  the  first  shock  of  faUing  Dauber's  feet 
Slid  on  the  rope ;  he  slid,  gripping  the  jack, 
Till  one  foot  jammed  against  an  iron  sheet. 


DAUBEB  /  127 

And  the  iron  cap  of  the  topmast  propped 

his  back, 
Then  passed  a  minute  of  roaring,  whirhng 

black. 
His  mate  upon  the  yard  yelled  in  his  ear 
''Sail.     Cut   away.     Cut   rags."    He   could 

not  hear. 

''Cut!"    yelled  his  mate;    he  looked,   the 

sail  was  gone. 
Blown  into  rags  in  the  first  furious  squall. 
The  tatters  drummed  the  devil's  tattoo ;  on 
The  buckling  yard   a  block  thumped  like 

a  mall. 
The  ship  lay,  the  sea  smote  her,  the  wind^s 

bawl 
Came   'Loo,   'Loo,   'Loo;    the   Devil   cried 

his  hounds 
On  to  the  poor  spent  stag  strayed  in  his 

bounds. 


128  DAUBEB 

''Cut!    Ease  her!''    yelled  his  mate;    the 

Dauber  heard. 
His  mate  wormed  up  the  tilted  yard  and 

slashed, 
A  rag  of   canvas  skimmed  hke   a   darting 

bird. 
The  snow  whirled,   the  ship  bowed  to  it, 

the  gear  lashed; 
The    Dauber    left    his     perch,    his    sheath 

knife  flashed. 
His  numb  hand  hacked  with  it,  to  clear  the 

strips ; 
The  flying  ice  was  salt  upon  his  lips. 

/    The  ice  was  caking  on  his  oilskins;    cold 
Struck    to    his    marrow,    beat    upon    him, 

stung. 
The  chill  palsied  his  blood,  it  made  him  old ; 
The  frosty  scatter  of  death  was  being  flung. 
And  still  the  ship  lay  over,  still  he  clung. 


/ 


DAUBER  129 

Tatters  of  shouts  were  flung,   the  rags  of 

'  yells 
And  clang,  clang,  clang,  below  beat  the  two 
bells. 

Numb    with    the    agony    of    the    cold,    he 

looked 
Above  him  at  the  royal ;    there  he  saw 
The  bony  finger  of  the  lean  spar  crooked, 
Bending  to   leeward  like  a  clutching  claw. 
The   mast's  heel,  working,   ground  its  fid- 
hole  raw, 
Royal   and   skysail   beat   in   tatters :    boys 
Hacked  at  the  rags,  and  ''slat,  slat,  slat/' 
the  noise 

Of  their  frayed,  flapping  trouser-ends  beat, 

beat, 
Beat   in   the  wind,   and  still  they  hacked ; 

and  he 

K 


130  DAUBER 

Hacked   on   the  jerking  yard  half   off  his 

feet, 
Cutting  the  scattering  rags  and  tatters  free. 
They  tied   themselves  in  knots,   they  had 

such  glee 
To  kick  away  their  masters  and  to  lose 
The  iron  bonds  of  their  constraining  clews. 

They  cleared  the  weather-yard.      ^'Now!'' 

yelled  his  mate, 
"Go   down  to  leeward  and  cut    away   the 

rest." 
SHde    down    the    tilted    pole,    wrestle   with 

fate. 
Held  by  the  oilskin  buttons  on  his  chest. 
The  Dauber's  turn  was  come:    he  did  his 

best. 
Slid  down  and  cut  away.     He  felt  his  foot 
Plucked  from  below;   the  bosun  shook  his 

boot. 


DAUBER  131 

^' Leave  that,"   the  bosun  shouted.     '^Cro- 

jick  save." 
The    spHtting    crojick,    not    yet    gone    to 

rags, 
Thundered    below,    beating    till    something 

gave. 
Bellying  between  its  buntlines  into  bags. 
Some    birds    were    blown    past    shrieking: 

dark,  like  shags, 
Their  backs  seemed,  looking  down.     "  'Leu, 

'Leu ! "  they  cried. 
The  ship  lay,  the  seas  thumped  her,  she  had 

died. 

They    reached    the    crojick    yard,    which 

buckled,  buckled 
Like    a    thin  whalebone    to    the    topsail's 

strain ; 
They  laid  upon  the  yard  and  heaved  and 

knuckled, 


132  DAUBER 

Pounding  the  sail,  which  jangled  and  leapt 

again. 
It   was   quite   hard  with  ice,  its  rope  like 

chain. 
Its  strength  like  seven  devils,  it  shook  the 

mast ; 
They  cursed  and  toiled  and  froze:    a  long 

time  passed. 

Two  hours  passed,   then  a  dim  lightening 

came. 
Those  frozen  ones  upon  the  yard  could  see 
The    mainsail    and    the    foresail    still    the 

same, 
Still  batthng  with  the  hands  and  blowing 

free, 
Rags  blew  where  kites  and  staysails  used 

to  be; 
The   lower   topsails   stood;    the   ship's   lea 

deck 


DAUBEB  133 

Creamed  with  four  feet  of  water  filled  with 
wreck. 

An  hour  more  went  by;    the  Dauber  lost 
All  sense  of  hands  and  feet,  all  sense  of  all 
But  of  a  wind  that  cut  him  to   the  ghost 
And  of  a  frozen  fold  he  had  to  haul, 
Of  heavens  that  fell  and  never  ceased  to 

fall 
And  ran  in  smoky  snatches  along  the  sea, 
Leaping  from  crest  to  wave-crest,   yelUng : 

he 

Lost  sense  of  time,  no  bells  went,  but  he 

felt 
Ages  go  over  him.     At  last,  at  last 
They    f rapped    the    cringled    crojick's    icy 

pelt ; 
In  frozen  bulge  and  bunt  they  made  it  fast. 
Then,  scarcely  live,  they  laid  in  to  the  mast. 


134  DAUBER 

The    captain's    peaking    trumpet    gave    a 

blare : 
''Make  fast  the  topsail,  Mister,  while  you're 

there." 

Some  seamen  cursed,  but  up  they  had  to 

go, 
Up  to  the  topsail  yard  to  spend  an  hour 

Stowing  a  topsail  in  a  blinding  snow  j 

Which    made    the    strongest    man    among 

them  cower. 
More  men  came  up,  the  fresh  hands  gave 

them  power, 
They  stowed  the  sail;    then  with  a  rattle 

of  chain 

One  half  the  crojick  burst  its  bonds  again. 
4:  *  ♦  ♦  * 

They    stowed    the    sail,  frapping   it    round 

with  rope, 
Leaving  no  surface  for  the  wind,  no  fold ; 


DAUBER  135 

Then  down  the  weather  shrouds,  half  dead, 

they  grope. 
That  struggle  with  the  sail  had  made  them 

old; 
They  wondered   if   the   crojick  furl   would 

hold. 
'' Lucky/ ^    said    one,    '^she    didn't    lose    a 

spar." 
^'Lucky,''    the    bosun    said,    ^4ucky?      We 

are. 

"She   came  within    two   shakes  of  turning 

top. 
Or    stripping    all    her    shroud  screws,  that 

first  quiff. 
Now,  fish  those  wash-deck  buckets  out  of 

the  slop. 
Here's  Dauber  says  he  doesn't  like   Cape 

Stiff. 
This  isn't  wind,  man,  this  is  only  a  whiff. 


136  DAUBER 

Hold  on,  all  hands;  hold  on!''  a  sea,  half- 
seen 

Paused,  mounted,  burst  and  filled  the  main 
deck  green. 

The  Dauber  felt  a  mountain  of  water  fall. 
It  covered  him  deep,  deep,  he  felt  it  fill 
Over  his  head,  the  deck,  the  fife-rails  all, 
Quieting   the   ship,    she   trembled   and   lay 

still. 
Then  with  a  rush  and  shatter  and  clanging 

shrill, 
Over  she  went ;    he  saw  the  water  cream 
Over    the    bitts;   he    saw    the    half-deck 

stream. 

Then  in  the  rush  he  swirled,  over  she 
went. 

Her  lee  rail  dipped,  he  struck,  and  some- 
thing gave. 


DAUBEB  137 

His  legs  went  through  a  port  as  the  roll 

spent ; 
She  paused,  then  rolled,  and  back  the  water 

drave. 
He  drifted  with  it  as  a  part  of   the  wave  ; 
Half-drowned,       half-stunned,       exhausted, 

partly  frozen, 
He  struck  the  booby  hatchway;    then  the 

bosun 

Leaped,  seeing  his  chance,  before  the  next 

sea  burst 
And  caught  him  as  he  drifted,  seized  him, 

held, 
Up-ended  him  against  the  bitts  and  cursed. 
''This  ain't  the  George's  Swimming  Baths," 

he  yelled, 
''Keep   on    your  feet,"    another  gray-back 

felled 
The  two  together,  and  the  bose,  half-blind. 


138  DAUBER 

Spat:  ^'One's  a  joke,"  he  cursed,  ^^but 
two's  unkind." 

'^Now,  damn  it.  Dauber,"  said  the  mate, 
^4ook  out. 

Or  you'll  be  over  the  side."  The  water 
freed, 

Each  clanging  freeing-port  became  a 
spout. 

The  men  cleared  up  the  decks,  as  there 
was  need  ; 

The  Dauber  coiled  up  with  them,  feehng 
bleed 

His  head  into  his  oilskins;  the  sky  glow- 
ered. 

The  wind  shrieked,  and  the  mile-long  gray- 
backs  towered. 

It  was  fast  darkening,  but  the  ship  was 
saved. 


DAUBEB  139 

She   was    snugged    down,    though    fourteen 

sails  were  split. 
Out  of  the  dark  a  fiercer  fury  raved  : 
The    gray-backs   died    and    mounted,   each 

crest  Ht 
With  a  white  toppHng  gleam  that  hissed 

from  it 
And  slid,  or  leaped,  or  ran  with  whirls  of 

cloud, 
Mad    with     inhuman    Ufe     that     shrieked 

aloud. 

The  watch  was  called:    Dauber  might  go 

below. 
'^Splice  the  main  brace,''  the  mate  called; 

all  laid  aft 
To  get  a  gulp  of  momentary  glow 
As  some  reward  for  having  saved  the  craft. 
The  steward  ladled  mugs  from  which  each 

quaffed 


140  DAUBER 

Whisky,  with  water,  sugar  and  lime  juice, 

hot, 
A  quarter  of  a  pint  each  made  the  tot. 

Beside    the    lamp-room    door    the    steward 

stood 
Ladling  it  out,  and  each  man  came  in  turn. 
Tipped    his    sou'wester,   drank    it,   grunted 

^'Good,'' 
And    shambled    forward,    letting  it    slowly 

burn. 
When    all   were    gone    the   Dauber   lagged 

astern, 
Torn  by  his  frozen  body^s  lust  for  heat, 
The   Hquor's   pleasant   smell,   so   warm,   so 

sweet, 

And    by    a    promise    long-since    made    at 

home 
Never  to  taste  strong  liquor;   now  he  knew 


DAUBER  141 

The  worth  of  liquor,  now  he  wanted  some; 
His  frozen  body  urged  him  to  the  brew. 
Yet  it  seemed  wrong,  an  evil  thing  to   do 
To    break    that    promise.     '^Dauber,"    said 

the  mate, 
"Drink  and  turn  in,  man;    why  the  hell 

d'ye  wait?" 

"Please,  sir,  I'm  temperance."  "Temper- 
ance are  you,  hey? 

That's  all  the  more  for  me;  so  you're  for 
slops  ? 

I  thought  you'd  had  enough  slops  for  to- 
day. 

Go  to  your  bunk  and  ease  her  when  she 
drops. 

And  c  .  .  dammy,  steward,  you  brew  with 
too  much  hops.  .  .  . 

Stir  up  the  sugar,  man  .  .  .  and  tell  your 
girl 


142  DAUBER 

How  kind  the  mate  was  teaching  you  to 
furl.'' 

Then  the  mate  drank  the  renmants,  six 
men's  share, 

And  ramped  into  his  cabin,  where  he 
stripped 

And  danced  unclad  and  was  uproarious 
there. 

In  waltzes  with   the  cabin-cat  he  tripped. 

Singing  in  tenor  clear  that  he  was  pipped. 

That  ''he  who  strove  the  tempest  to  dis- 
arm 

Must  never  first  embrail  the  lee  yard- 
arm," 

And  that  his  name  was  Ginger.     Dauber 

crept 
Back  to  the  roundhouse,  gripping  by  the 

rail. 


BAUBEB  143 

The  wind  howled  by,  the  passionate  water 

leapt, 
The   night   was   all  one    roaring   with   the 

gale. 
Then  at  the  door  he  stopped,   uttering  a 

wail. 
His  hands  were  perished  numb  and  blue  as 

veins, 
He  could  not  turn  the  knob  for  both  the 

Spains. 

A   hand    came   shuffling   aft,    dodging   the 

seas. 
Singing    ''Her    nut    brown    hair"    between 

his  teeth. 
Taking  the  ocean^s  tumult  at  his  ease, 
Even  when  the  wash  about  his  thighs  did 

seethe. 
His     soul     was     happy     in     its     happy 

sheath : 


144  DAUBER 

^^What,    Dauber,   won't   it   open?    Fingers 

cold? 
You'll    talk    of    this    time,    Dauber,    when 

you're  old." 

He  flung  the  door  half-open,  and  a  sea 

Washed  them  both  in,  over  the  splash- 
board, down. 

"You  silly  salt  miscarriage,"  spluttered  he. 

"Dauber,  pull  out  the  plug  before  we 
drown. 

That's  spoiled  my  laces  and  my  velvet 
gown. 

Where  is  the  plug?"  groping  in  pitch  dark 
water 

He  sang  between  his  teeth  "The  farmer's 
daughter." 

It  was  pitch  dark  within  there,  at  each 
roll 


BAUBEB  145 

The    chests    slid    to    the   slant,    the   water 

rushed, 
Making  full  many  a  clanging  tin  pan  bowl 
Into  the  black  below-bunks  as  it  gushed. 
The  dog-tired  men  slept  through  it,   they 

were  hushed. 
The  water  drained,  and  then  with  matches 

damp 
The  man  struck  heads  off  till  he  lit  the 

lamp. 

'^ Thank  you/*  the  Dauber  said;  the  seaman 

grinned. 
''This  is  your  first  foul  weather?'*      ''Yes." 

''I  thought 
Up  on  the  yard  you  hadn't  seen  much  wind. 
Them's  rotten  sea  boots.  Dauber,  that  you 

brought. 
Now    I    must    cut    on    deck    before  I'm 

caught." 


146  DAUBER 

He    went,    the     lamp-flame     smoked,     he 

slammed  the  door; 
A  film  of  water  loitered  across  the  floor. 

The  Dauber  watched  it  come,  and  watched 

it  go. 
He  had  had  a  revelation  of  the  lies 
Cloaking  the  truth  men  never  choose  to  know ; 
He  could  bear  witness  now  and  cleanse  their 

eyes. 
He  had  beheld  in  suffering,   he  was  wise. 
This  was  the  sea,  this  searcher  of  the  soul, 
This    never-dying    shriek    fresh    from    the 

Pole. 

He  shook  with  cold,  his  hands  could  not 

undo 
His    oilskin  buttons,  so  he  shook  and  sat 
Watching  his  dirty  fingers,   dirty  blue. 
Hearing  without  the  hammering  tackle  slat. 


DAUBER  147 

Within,   the  drops    from    dripping    clothes 

went  pat, 
Running  in  little  patters,  gentle,  sweet, 
And  "Ai,  Ai,'^  went  the  wind,  and  the  seas 

beat. 

His  bunk  was  sopping  wet,  he  clambered 

in, 
None  of  his  clothes  were  dry:    his  fear  re- 
curred. 
Cramps   bunched    the   muscles   underneath 

his  skin. 
The  great  ship  rolled  until  the  lamp  was 

blurred. 
He   took   his   Bible    and    tried   to   read   a 

word. 
Trembled     at     going     aloft     again,     and 

then 
Resolved   to   fight   it   out  and   show  it   to 

men. 


148  DAUBER 

Faces  recurred,  fierce  memories  of  the  yard, 
The  look  of  the  sail,  the  savage  eyes,  the 

jests. 
The  oaths  of    one    great  seaman,  syphiUs- 

scarred. 
The   tug   of   the   leeches   jammed   beneath 

their  chests. 
The    buntlines    bellying    bunts    out    into 

breasts. 
The  deck  so  desolate-grey,  the  sky  so  wild. 
He  fell  asleep  and  slept  like  a  young  child. 

But  not  for  long :  the  cold  awoke  him  soon. 
The  hot-ache  and  the  skin-cracks  and  the 

cramp, 
The    seas    thundering    without,    the    gale's 

wild  tune, 
The  sopping  misery  of  the  blankets  damp : 
A    speaking-trumpet    roared,     a    seaboot's 

stamp 


DAUBEB  149 

Clogged  at  the  door,  a  man  entered  to  shout, 
*'A11  hands  on  deck  !    Arouse  here  !    Tumble 
out!^' 

The   caller   raised   the   lamp;    his   oilskins 

clicked 
As  the  thin  ice  upon  them  cracked  and  fell. 
^^ Rouse    out,"    he    said.     ^'This    lamp    is 

frozen  wicked. 
Rouse  out,"  his  accent  deepened  to  a  yell. 
^^ We're   among   ice;    it's   blowing   up   like 

hell; 
We're  going  to  hand  both  topsails.     Time, 

I  guess, 
We're  sheeted  up.    Rouse  out.    Don't  stay 

to  dress." 

''Is  it  cold  on  deck?"  said  Dauber.     "Is 

it  cold? 
We're  sheeted  up,  I  tell  you,  inches  thick; 


150  DAUBER 

The  fo'c's'le's  like  a  wedding-cake,  I'm  told ; 
Now  tumble  out,  my  sons;    on  deck  here; 

quick. 
Rouse  out,  away,  and  come  and  climb  the 

stick : 
I'm    going    to    call    the   half-deck.    Bosun. 

Hey. 
Both     topsails     coming     in.      Heave    out. 

Away." 

He  went;    the   Dauber  tumbled  from  his 

bunk. 
Clutching  the  side;    he  heard  the  wind  go 

past, 
Making  the  great  ship  wallow  as  if  drunk. 
There  was  a  shocking  tumult  up  the  mast. 
''This  is  the  end,"  he  muttered,   ''come  at 

last; 
I've  got  to  go  aloft,  facing  this  cold. 
I  can't.     I  can't.     I'll  never  keep  my  hold. 


BAUBEB  151 

^^I  cannot  face  the  topsail  yard  again. 

I    never    guessed    what    misery    it    would 

be/' 
The   cramps   and   hot-ache  made  him  sick 

with  pain. 
The  ship  stopped  suddenly  from  a  devilish 

sea, 
Then  with  a  triumph  of  wash,  a  rush  of 

glee. 
The  door  burst  in,  and  in  the  water  rolled, 
Filling   the  lower  bunks,   black,   creaming, 

cold. 

The  lamp   sucked   out,    '^wash"   went   the 

water  back, 
Then  in  again,  flooding;    the  bosun  swore. 
''You  useless  thing,   you  Dauber,  you  lee 

slack. 
Get  out,  you  heekapoota;    shut  the  door. 
You  coo-ilyaira,  what  are  you  waiting  for? 


152  DAUBER 

Out   of  my  way,   you   thing,   you  useless 

thing.^' 
He  slammed  the  door  indignant,   clanging 

the  ring. 

And  then  he  lit  the  lamp,  drowned  to  the 

waist. 
'^Here's  a  fine  house.     Get  at  the  scupper 

holes.'' 
He  bent  against  it  as  the  water  raced. 
''And  pull  them  out  to  leeward  when  she 

rolls ; 
They   say   some   kinds   of   landsmen   don't 

have  souls. 
I  well  believe.     A  Port  Mahon  baboon 
Would  make  more  soul  than  you  got  with 

a  spoon." 

Down  in  the  icy  water   Dauber  groped 
To  find  the  plug;  the  racing  water  sluiced 


DAUBER  153 

Over  his  head  and  shoulders  as  she  sloped. 
Without,  judged  by  the  sound,  all  hell  was 

loosed. 
He  felt  cold  Death  about  him  tightly  noosed, 
That   Death   was   better   than   the   misery 

there, 
Iced  on  the  quaking  foothold  high  in  air. 

And  then  the  thought  came:  '^I^m  a  failure. 

All  ■  / 

■/ 
My  life  has  been  a  failure :  they  were  right. 

It  will  not  matter  if  I  go  and  fall; 
I  should  be  free,  then,  from  this  hell's  de- 
light. 
I'll  never  paint.    Best  let  it  end  to-night. 
I'll  slip  over  the  side.     I've  tried  and  failed." 
So,  in  the  ice-cold,  in  the  night,  he  quailed. 

Death  would  be  better.   Death,   than  this 
long  hell 


154  DAUBER 

.  / 

Of  mockery  and  surrender  and  dismay, 
This  long  defeat  of  doing  nothing  well,  ' 
Playing  the  part  too  high  for  him  to  play. 
K    ''0  Death,  who  hides  the  sorry  thing  away, 
Take  me,  IVe  failed.    I  cannot  play  these 

cards." 
There  came  a  thundering  from  the  topsail 

yards. 

And   then   he   bit   his    lips,    clenching    his 

mind. 
And  staggered  out  to  muster,  beating  back 
The     coward     frozen    self     of     him     that 

whined. 
Come  what  cards  might,  he  meant  to  play 

the  pack. 
"Ai  I"  screamed  the  wind,  the  topsail  sheets 

went  clack. 
Ice  filled  the  air  with  spikes,  the  gray-backs 

burst. 


DA  UBER  155 

'^Here's  Dauber/'  said  the  mate,  "on  deck 
the  first. 

"Why,  holy  sailor.  Dauber,  you're  a  man; 
I  took  you  for  a  soldier;    up  now,  come." 
Up  on  the  yards  already  they  began 
That  battle  with  a  gale  which  strikes  men 

dumb. 
The  leaping  topsail  thundered  like  a  drum. 
The  frozen  snow  beat  in  the  face  Hke  shots. 
The  wind   spun  whipping  wave-crests   into 

clots. 

So  up,  upon  the  topsail  yard  again. 
In  the  great  tempest's  fiercest  hour,  began 
Probation  to  the  Dauber's  soul  of  pain 
Which    crowds   a    century's   torment   in   a 

span. 
For  the  next  month  the  ocean  taught  this 

man. 


156  DAUBER 

And  he,  in  that  month's  torment,  while  she 

wested. 
Was   never  warm,   nor   dry,   nor  full,   nor 

rested. 

But  still  it  blew,  or,  if  it  lulled,  it  rose 
Within  the  hour  and  blew  again;    and  still 
The  water  as  it  burst  aboard  her  froze. 
The  wind   blew   off    an   ice-field,   raw   and 

chill, 
Daunting  man's   body,  tampering  with  his 

wilU 
But  after  thirty  days  a  ghostly  sun 
Gave  sickly  promise  that  the  storms  were 
\  done. 

VI 

A  great  grey  sea  was  running  up  the  sky; 
Desolate  birds  flew  past,  their  mewings  came 
As  that  lone  water's  spiritual  cry. 


DAUBER  157 

Its  forlorn  voice,  its  essence,  its  souFs  name. 
The  ship  hmped  in  the  water  as  if  lame. 
Then  in  the  forenoon  watch  to  a  great  shout 
More  sail  was  made,  the  reefs  were  shaken 
out, 

A  slant  came  from  the  south;    the  singers 

stood 
Clapped  to  the  halliards,  hauling  to  a  tune, 
Old  as  the  sea,  a  fillip  to  the  blood. 
While  the  upper  topsail  rose  like  a  balloon. 
^^So  long,  Cape  Stiff.     In  Valparaiso  soon,'^ 
Said  one  to  other  as  the  ship  lay  over, 
Making  her  course  again,  again  a  rover. 

All  felt  Cape  Horn  was  ended,  all  men^s 

hearts 
Lightened,  and  all  men  sang,  so  fair,  so  sweet 
Showed  the  half  sunny  heaven,  blue  in  parts. 
After  the  month-long  drive  of  Polar  sheets; 


0 


158  DAUBER 

They   sang    ^'King  Louis/'  hauling  aft  the 

sheets ; 
Fo'c's'le  and  half-deck  sang,  the  ship  was 

ringing 
With    snatches  of    old  songs    and    seamen 

singing. 

Slowly  the  sea  went  down  as  the  wind 
jpi^HL  dropped; 

Clear  rang  the  songs,  ^^  Hurrah,  Cape  Horn 
is  bet." 

And  some  hung  clothes  to  dry  and  others 
mopped 

The  filthy  deckings,  slimp  with   long  wet, 

Where,  mouldered  over,  tattered,  gone  to 
fret, 

Old  clothes  appeared,  old,  drowned,  forgotten 
things. 

Washed  under  bunks  and  soaked  to  ravel- 
lings. 


# 


DA  UBEB  159 

The  Dauber,  scrubbing  out  the  roundhouse, 

found 
Old  pantiles  gone  to  pulp,  old  clouts,  old 

gear 
In    the    below-bunks   blackness   long   since 

drowned 
During  the  agony  of  the  Cape  Horn  year. 
He  sang  in  scrubbing,  for  he  had  done  with 

fear ; 
He  had  endured  the  worst,  he  had  passed 

through  ; 
He  thought  of  all  the  pictures  he  would  do 

On  the  immense  scale  of  the  sailor^s  stage : 
The  yard,  the  ship,  the  sea,  the  power  of 

man 
Matched  against   chaos  in  elemental  rage, 
The  way  of  the  wind  upon  the  waters  wan. 
The   pelting   off    the  Horn  had  given  him 

tan, 


160  DAUBER 

Brightened  his  eyes  and  plumped  him,  arms 

and  face; 
He  had  got  manhood  at  the  testing  place. 

Singing    he    scrubbed,    passing    his    watch 

below. 
Making   the   roundhouse   fair;    the    bosun 

watched, 
Bringing  his  knitting  slowly  to  the  toe; 
Sails   stretched   a  mizen   skysail  which  he 

patched ; 
They  thought  the  Dauber  was  a  bad  egg 

hatched. 
''Daubs,"    said    the    bosun    cheerly,    "can 

you  knit? 
IVe  made  a  Barney's  biill  of  this  last  bit.'* 

Then,  while  the  Dauber  counted,  bosun  took 
Some  marline  from  his  pocket.    ''Here,"  he 
said, 


DAUBER  161 

^^You   want    to    know   square    sennit?     So 

fash.     Look. 
Eight  foxes  take,  and  stop  the  ends  with 

thread ; 
IVe  known  an  engineer  would  give  his  head 
To    know    square    sennit.'^     As    the    bose 

began 
The  Dauber  felt  promoted  into  man. 

It  was  his  warrant  that  he  had  not  failed, 
That   the  most  hard  peak  in  his  difficult 

climb 
Had    not    been    past    attainment;    it    was 

scaled, 
In    spite    of    perilous    ways    and    slippery 

slime. 
He  had  emerged  out  of  the  iron  time 
And  knew  that  he  could  compass  his  life's 

scheme  ; 
He  had  the  power  sufficient  to  his  dream. 


162  DAUBER 

Then  dinner  came,  and  now  the  sky  was 

blue. 
^  The  ship  was  standing  north,  the  Horn  was 

rounded ; 
She   made    a    thundering   as    she   weltered 

through. 
The    mighty    gray-backs    glittered    as    she 

bounded. 
More   sail   was   piled   upon   her:    she   was 

hounded 
North,  while  the  wind  came ;  like  a  stag  she 

ran 
^       Over  grey  hills  and  hollows  of  seas  wan. 

She  had  a  white  bone  in  her  mouth:    she 

sped; 
Those  in  the  roundhouse  watched  her  as 

they  ate 
Their  meal  of  pork-fat  fried  with  broken 

bread ; 


DAUBEB  163 

'^Good  old,"   they  cried,   ^^she^s    off,   she's 

gathering  gait." 
Her   track  was   whitening  like   a   Lammas 

spate. 
*^Good  old,"  they  cried,  "oh,  giver  her  cloth. 

Hurray 
For  three  weeks  more  to  Valparaiso  Bay." 

"She  smells  old  Vallipo,"  the  bosun  cried, 
"Well  be  inside   the   tier   in  three  weeks 

more. 
Lying  at  double-moorings  where  they  ride 
Off  of  the  Market,  half  a  mile  from  shore, 
And  bumboat  pan,  my  sons,  and  figs  galore, 
And  girls  in  black  mantillas  fit  to  make  a 
Poor  seaman  frantic  when  they  dance  the 

cueca. 

"Now,  Daubs,  stand  by  to  smart  her  up 
for  port, 


164  DAUBEB 

Rouse  out  your  paints,  this  clipper  needs 
some    brightening. 

No   afternoons  below  now  days   are   short, 

But  all  hands  holystoning  her  and  whiten- 
ing 

And  making  all  her  brass  as  bright  as  light- 
ning. 

She's  a  crack  ship,  this  hooker;  smartened 
up, 

She'll  queen  the  tier  and  win  the  Consul's 
cup." 

Eight    bells    were    made,    the    watch    was 

changed,  and  now 
The  mate  spoke  to  the  Dauber,  '^This  is 

better. 
We'll  soon  be  getting  mudhooks  over  the 

bow. 
She'll  make  her.  passage  still  if  this'U  let 

her. 


DAUBER  165 

O,    run,    you    drogher,    dip    your    fo'c's'le 

wetter. 
Well,    Dauber,    this    is    better    than    Cape 

Horn. 
Them   topsails   made  you   wish   you'd   not 

been  born." 

''Yes,  sir,"  the  Dauber  said.  ''Now,"  said 
the  mate, 

"We've  got  to  smart  her  up.  Them  Cape 
Horn  seas 

Have  made  her  paintwork  like  a  rusty  grate. 

O,  didn't  them  topsails  make  your  fish- 
hooks freeze? 

A  topsail  don't  pay  heed  to  'won't  you, 
please  ? ' 

Well.  And  you've  seen  Cape  Horn,  Dauber ; 
you've  learned. 

You've  dipped  your  hand  and  had  your 
fingers  burned. 


166  DAUBER 

"And  now  you'll  stow  that  folly,  trying  to 

paint ; 
You've  had  your  lesson;    you're  a  sailor, 

now. 
You   come    on   board   a   woman   ready   to 

faint. 
All  sorts  of  slush  you'd  learned,  the  Lord 

knows  how. 
Well,   Cape  Horn's  sent  you  wisdom  over 

the  bow. 
If  you've  got  sense  to  take  it.    You're  a 

sailor. 
My    God,    before,    you   were    a    woman's 

tailor. 

"So  throw  your  paints  to  blazes  and  have 

done. 
Words  can^t  describe  the  silly  things  you 

did. 
Sitting  before  your  easel  in  the  sun. 


DAUBER  167 

With    all    your    colours    on    the   paint-box 

Hd. 
I  blushed  for  you  .  .  .  and  then  the  daubs 

you  hid. 
My  God !  you'll  have  more  sense  now,  eh  ? 

YouVe  quit?" 
''No,    sir."     ''You've    not?"     "No,    sir." 

"God  give  you  wit. 

"I    thought     you'd     come     to     wisdom." 

Thus  they  talked 
While  the  great  clipper  took  her  bit  and 

rushed 
Like    a     skin-glistening    stallion     not     yet 

baulked. 
Till    fire-bright    water    at    her    swingports 

gushed ; 
Poising    and    bowing    down    her    forefoot 

crushed 
Bubble  on  glittering  bubble;  on  she  went. 


168  DAUBER 

The  Dauber  watched  her,  wondering  what 
it  meant 

To  come,  after  long  months,  at  rosy  dawn, 
Into  the  placid  blue  of  some  great  bay. 
Treading  the  quiet  water  like  a  fawn 
Ere  yet  the  morning  haze  was  blown  away, 
A    rose-flushed    figure    putting    aside    the 

grey. 
And  anchoring  there  before  the  city  smoke 
Rose,    or    the    church-bells    rang,    or    men 

awoke. 

And  then,  in  the  first  light,  to  see  grow 
clear 

That  long-expected  haven  filled  with 
strangers. 

Alive  with  men  and  women;    see  and  hear 

Its  clattering  market  and  its  money- 
changers ; 


DAUBEB  169 

And  hear  the  surf  beat,  and  be  free  from 

dangers, 
And   watch   the   crinkled   ocean   blue   with 

calm 
Drowsing  beneath  the  Trade,  beneath  the 

palm. 

Hungry  for  that  he  worked;  the  hour  went 

by 
And  still  the  wind  grew,   still  the  cHpper 

strode ; 
And     now     a    darkness    hid    the    western 

sky, 
And  sprays  came  flicking  off  at  the  wind^s 

goad. 
She  stumbled  now,  feeling  her  sail  a  load. 
The  mate  gazed  hard  to  windward,  eyed  his 

sail. 
And  said  the  Horn  was  going  to  flick  her 

tail. 


170  DAUBER 

Boldly  he  kept  it  on  her  till  she  staggered, 

But  still  the  wind  increased;  it  grew,  it 
grew, 

Darkening  the  sky,  making  the  water  hag- 
gard; 

Full  of  small  snow  the  mighty  wester  blew. 

"More  fun  for  httle  fish-hooks,"  sighed  the 
crew. 

They  eyed  the  taut  topgallants  stiff  like 
steel ; 

A  second  hand  was  ordered  to  the  wheel. 

The  captain  eyed  her  aft,  sucking  his  Hp, 
FeeHng  the  sail  too  much,  but  yet  refrain- 
ing 
From  putting  hobbles  on  the  leaping  ship, 
The    glad    sea-shattering      stalUon,    halter 

straining. 
Wind-musical,  uproarious  and  complaining : 
But,  in  a  gust,  he  cocked  his  finger,  so: 


DAUBER  171 

'^You^d  better  take  them  off,  before  they 
go." 

All  saw.    They  ran  at   once  without   the 

word. 
^'Leeay,   Leeay!"    loud   rang   the   clewline 

cries. 
Sam    in    his    bunk    within    the    half-deck 

heard, 
Stirred  in  his  sleep  and  rubbed  his  drowsy 

eyes. 
'^ There  go  the  lower  topgallants."    Against 

the  skies 
Rose  the  thin  bellying  strips  of  leaping  sail. 
The   Dauber  was  the   first   man   over   the 

rail. 

Three  to  a  mast  they  ran;  it  was  a  race. 
''God,"   said  the  mate,   'Hhat  Dauber,  he 
can  go." 


172  DAUBER 

He  watched  the  runners  with  an  upturned 

face, 
Over  the  futtocks  struggHng  heel  to  toe, 
Up    to    the    topmast   cross    trees  into   the 

blow, 
Where     the     three     sails     were     leaping. 

^^ Dauber  wins." 
The  yards  were  reached  and  now  the  race 

begins. 

Which   three  will   furl   their   sail  first   and 

come  down? 
Out  to  the  yard-arm  for  the  leech  goes  one. 
His    hair  blowing  flagwise  from   a   hatless 

crown, 
His  hands  at  work  hke  fever  to  be  done. 
Out  of  the  gale  a  fiercer  fury  spun. 
The   three   sails    leaped    together,    yanking 

high. 
Like  talons  darting  up  to  clutch  the  e?^y. 


DAUBER  173 

The  Dauber  on  the  fore  topgallant  yard 
Was  at  the  weather-arm;    he  was  the  first 
To  wrestle  with  the  canvas  bellying  hard, 
Bulged    by    the    shrieking    westerns    bitter 

burst. 
He  got  his  leech  in,  while  a  comrade  cursed 
The  lead  of  the  buntlines  and,  with  oaths, 

observed  : 
'^The  eye  of  the  outer  jib-stay  isn't  served." 

''No?"  said  the  Dauber.  ''No,"  the  man 
replied. 

They  heaved,  stowing  the  sail,  not  looking 
round. 

Panting,  but  full  of  life  and  eager-eyed; 

The  gale  roared  at  them  with  its  iron  sound. 

"That's  you,"  the  Dauber  said.  His  gas- 
ket wound 

Swift  round  the  yard,  binding  the  sail  in 
bands. 


174  DAUBER 

There  came  a  gust,  the  sail  leaped  from  his 
hands 

So  that  he  saw  it  high  above  him,   grey, 
And  there  his  mate  was  falhng;    quick  he 

clutched 
An  arm  in  oilskins  swiftly  snatched  away. 
A    voice    said    '^Christ!''    a  quick^  shape 

stooped  and  touched. 
Chain  struck  his  hands,  ropes  shot,  the  sky 

was  smutched 
With  vast  black  fires  that  ran,   that  fell, 

that  furled. 
And  then  he  saw  the  mast,  the  small  snow 

hurled, 

The  fore  topgallant  yard  far,  far  aloft. 
And  blankness  settling  on  him  and  great 

pain. 
And  snow  beneath  his  fingers  wet  and  soft, 


DAUBER  175 

And    topsail-sheet-blocks    shaking    at    the 

chain. 
He  knew  it  was  he  who  had  fallen;    then 

his  brain 
Swirled  in   a   circle  while  he  watched  the 

sky. 
Infinite  multitudes  of  snow  blew  by. 

'^I    thought    it    was    Tom    who    fell/'    his 

brain's  voice  said. 
''Down  on  the  bloody  deck,"  the  captain 

screamed. 
The   multitudinous   little   snowflakes    sped. 
His    pain    was   real    enough,    but    all    else 

seemed. 
Si  with  a  bucket  ran,  the  water  gleamed, 
Tilting     upon     him,     others     came,      the 

mate  .  .  . 
They  knelt  with  eager  eyes  like  things  that 

wait 


176  DAUBER 

For  other  things  to  come.    He  saw  them 

there. 
''It  will  go  on/'   he  murmured,   watching 

Si. 
Colours   and  sounds  seemed  mixing  in  the 

air. 
The  pain  was  stunning  him  and  the  wind 

went  by. 
''More     water/'  said     the     mate.     "Here, 

bosun;  try. 
Ask  if  he's  got  a  message.    Hell!  he's  gone. 
Here,   Dauber,  Paints."     He  said,   "It  will 

go  on." 

Not  knowing  his  meaning  rightly,  but  he 

spoke 
With  the  intenseness  of  a  fading  soul 
Whose  share  of  nature's  fire  turns  to  smoke, 
Whose  hand  on  nature's  wheel  loses  control. 
The  eager  faces  glowered  red  Hke  coal; 


DAUBER  177 

They  glowed,  the  great  storm  glowed,  the 

sails,  the  mast. 
'^It  will  go  on,'^  he  cried  aloud,  and  passed. 

Those  from  the  yard   came  down  to   tell 

the  tale. 
*^He  almost  had  me  off,"  said  Tom.    ''He 

slipped. 
There   come   one  hell-of-a   jump-Hke   from 

the  sail. 
He   clutched   at   me   and    almost    had    me 

pipped. 
He   caught   my    'ris'band,   but   the   oilskin 

ripped. 
It  tore  clean  off.     Look  here.    I  was  near 

gone. 
I  made  a  grab  to  catch  him;   so  did  John. 

''I  caught  his  arm.    My  God,  I  was  near 
done. 


178  DAUBER 

He  almost  had  me  over :    it  was  near. 
He   hit    the   ropes    and   grabbed    at    every 

one/^ 
"Well/'  said  the  mate,  "we  cannot  leave 

him  here. 
Run,  Si,  and  get  the  half -deck  table  clear; 
We'll    lay    him    there.     Catch    hold    there, 

you,  and  you. 
He's  dead,  poor  son,  there's  nothing  more 

to  do." 

Night  fell,  and  all  night  long  the  Dauber 

lay 
Covered  upon  the  table;    all  night  long 
The   pitiless   storm   exulted   at  her  prey. 
Huddling   the  waters   with  her  icy   thong. 
But  to  the  covered  shape  she  did  no  wrong ; 
He  lay  under  the  sailcloth.    Bell  by  bell 
The  night   wore   through;    the   stars  rose, 

the  stars  fell. 


DAUBER  179 

Blowing    most    pitiless    cold    out    of    clear 

sky, 
The  wind  roared  all  night  long;    and  all 

night  through 
The  green  seas  on  the  deck  went  washing 

by, 

Flooding  the  half-deck ;   bitter  hard  it  blew. 
But  little  of  it  all  the  Dauber  knew  : 
The  sopping  bunks,  the  floating  chests,  the 

wet, 
The    darkness    and    the    misery    and    the 

sweat. 

He  was  off  duty.    So  it  blew  all  night, 
And  when  the  watches   changed   the  men 

would  come. 
Dripping  within  the  door  to  strike  a  light 
And   stare  upon   the  Dauber  lying   dumb. 
And  say,   ^'He  come  a  cruel  thump,   poor 

chum." 


180  DAUBER 

Or    ^^He'd    a    been    a   fine   big    man,"    or 

^'He  .  .  . 
A  smart  young  seaman  he  was  getting  to 

be." 

Or,  "Damn  it  all,  it's  what  weVe  all  to 

face.  .  .  . 
I  knew  another  fellow  one  time  ..."  then 
Came  a  strange  tale  of  death  in  a  strange 

place 
Out  on  the  sea,  in  ship3,  with  wandering 

men. 
In  many  ways  Death  puts  us  into  pen. 
The  reefers   came   down   tired   and   looked 

and  slept. 
Below   the  skylight   little  dribbles  crept 

Along    the    painted    woodwork,  glistening, 

slow, 
Following  the  roll  and  dripping,  never  fast. 


DAUBER  181 

But   dripping   on  the  quiet   form   below 
Like    passing    time    talking    to    time   long 

past. 
And  all  night   long   "Ai!  Ai!"   went   the 

wind's  blast, 
And  creaming  water  swished  below  the  pale 
Unheeding  body  stretched  below  the  sail. 

At  dawn  they  sewed  him  up,  and  at  eight 

bells 
They  bore    him  to    the    gangway,   wading 

deep, 
Through  the  green-clutching,  white-toothed 

water-hells 
That  flung  his  carriers  over  in  their  sweep. 
They  laid  an  old  red  ensign  on  the  heap, 
And  all  hands  stood  bareheaded,  stooping, 

swaying. 
Washed  by  the  sea,  while  the  old  man  was 

praying 


182  DA  USER 

Out  of  a  borrowed  prayer-book.  At  a 
sign 

They  twitched  the  ensign  back  and  tipped 
the  grating  : 

A  creamier  bubbling  broke  the  bubbling 
brine, 

The  muffled  figure  tilted  to  the  weight- 
ing, 

It  dwindled  slowly  down,  slowly  gyrating; 

Some  craned  to  see,  it  dimmed,  it  disap- 
peared. 

The  last  green  milky  bubble  bhnked  and 
cleared. 

''Mister,  shake  out  your  reefs, ^'  the  captain 

called. 
''Out  topsail  reefs, '^  the  mate  cried;    then 

all  hands 
Hurried,  the  great  sails  shook,  and  all  hands 

hauled, 


DAUBER  183 

Singing  that  desolate  song  of  lonely  lands, 
Of    the   drowned    lover    come    in    dripping 

bands, 
Green  with  the  wet  and  cold,   to  tell  his 

lover 
That   Death   was   in   the  sea  and   all  was 

over. 

Fair    came    the    falhng    wind;     a    seaman 

said 
The  Dauber  was  a  Jonah;    once  again 
The   cUpper  held  her   course,   showing  red 

lead, 
Shattering   the   sea   tops  into   golden   rain; 
The   waves    bowed    down    before    her    like 

blown  grain. 
Onwards   she   thundered,    on;    her   voyage 

was  short, 
Before     the     tier's     bells     rang    her    into 

port. 


184  DAUBER 

Cheerily    they  rang  her   in,    those   beating 

bells, 
The    new-come    beauty    stately    from    the 

sea. 
Whitening   the  blue  heave   of   the  drowsy 

swells. 
Treading    the    bubbles    down :     with    three 

times  three 
They  cheered  her  moving  beauty  in;    and 

she 
Came  to  her  berth,  so  noble,  so  superb. 
Swayed  like  a  queen  and  answered  to  the 

curb. 

Then  in  the  sunset's  flush  they  went  aloft 
And  unbent  sails  in  that  most  lovely  hour 
When  the  Hght  gentles  and  the  wind  is  soft. 
And    beauty    in    the    heart    breaks  like   a 

flower. 
Working  aloft  they  saw  the  mountain  tower 


DAUBER  185 

Snow  to  the  peak;  they  heard  the  launch- 
men  shout; 

And  bright  along  the  bay  the  lights  came 
out* 


And  then  the  night  fell  dark,  and  all  night 

long 
The  pointed  mountain  pointed  at  the  stars, 
Frozen,  alert,  austere;    the  eagle's  song 
Screamed    from    her    desolate     screes    and 

splintered  scars. 
On    her    intense    crags,   where    the    air    is 

sparse. 
The  stars  looked  down,  their  many  golden 

eyes 
Watched  her  and  burned,  burned  out,  and 

came  to  rise. 

Silent  the  finger  of  the  summit  stood, 
Icy  in  pure,  thin  air,  glittering  with  snows; 


186  DAUBER 

Then  the  sun's  coming  turned  the  peak  to 
blood, 

And  in  the  resthouse  the  muleteers  arose. 

And  all  day  long,  where  only  the  eagle  goes, 

Stones,  loosened  by  the  sun,  fall :  the  stones 
falling 

Fill  empty  gorge  on  gorge  with  echoes  call- 
ing. 


BIOGRAPHY 

When  I  am  buried,  all  my  thoughts  and  acts 
Will  be  reduced  to  lists  of  dates  and  facts, 
And   long    before  this    wandering    flesh    is 

rotten 
The  dates  which  made  me  will  be  all  for- 
gotten ; 
And  none  will  know  the  gleam  there  used 

to  be 
About  the  feast  days  freshly  kept  by  me, 
But  men  will  call  the  golden  hour  of  bliss 
*' About  this  time,''  or  '^shortly  after  this.'* 

Men  do  not  heed  the  rungs  by  which  men 

cHmb 
Those  glittering  steps,  those  milestones  upon 

Time, 

187 


188  BIOGBAPHY 

Those    tombstones    of    dead    selves,    those 

hours  of  birth, 
Those  moments  of  the  soul  in  years  of  earth 
They  mark  the  height  achieved,  the  main 

result. 
The  power  of  freedom  in  the  perished  cult, 
The  power  of  boredom  in  the  dead  man's 

deeds. 
Not  the  bright  moments  of  the  sprinkled 

seeds. 

By  many  waters  and  on  many  ways 

I  have  known  golden  instants  and  bright 

days; 
The  day  on  which,  beneath  an  arching  sail, 
I  saw  the  Cordilleras  and  gave  hail; 
The  summer  day  on  which  in  heart's  delight 
I  saw  the  Swansea  Mumbles  bursting  white, 
The  glittering  day  when  all  the  waves  wore 

flags 


BIOGRAPHY  189 

And  the  ship  Wanderer  came  with  sails  in 

rags ; 
That  curlew-caUing  time  in  Irish  dusk 
When  Hfe  became  more  splendid  than  its 

husk, 
When  the  rent  chapel  on  the  brae  at  Slains 
Shone    with    a    doorway    opening    beyond 

brains ; 
The  dawn  when,  with  a  brace-block^s  creak- 
ing cry, 
Out  of  the  mist  a  little  barque  slipped  by, 
Spilling  the  mist  with  changing  gleams  of 

red, 
Then  gone,  with  one  raised  hand  and  one 

turned  head; 
The  howling  evening  when  the  spindrift's 

mists 
Broke  to  display  the  four  Evangelists, 
Snow-capped,    divinely    granite,    lashed    by 

breakers, 


190  BIOGRAPHY 

Wind-beaten    bones    of    long    since    buried 

acres ; 
The  night  alone  near  water  when  I  heard 
All  the  sea's  spirit  spoken  by  a  bird; 
The  English  dusk  when  I  beheld  once  more 
(With  eyes  so  changed)  the  ship,  the  citied 

shore, 
The  lines  of  masts,  the  streets  so  cheerly 

trod 
(In  happier  seasons)    and   gave   thanks  to 

God. 
All  had  their  beauty,  their  bright  moments' 

gift, 
Their    something    caught    from    Time,    the 

ever-swift. 

All  of  those  gleams  were  golden;   but  life's 

hands 
Have  given  more  constant  gifts  in  changing 

lands. 


BIOGBAPHT  191 

And  when  I  count  those  gifts,  I  think  them 

such 
As  no  man's  bounty  could  have  bettered 

much: 
The  gift   of    country    Hfe,    near    hills  and 

woods 
Where  happy  waters  sing  in  solitudes, 
The  gift  of  being  near  ships,  of  seeing  each 

day 
A    city  of    ships  with    great    ships    under 

weigh, 
The  great  street  paved  with  water,"  filled 

with  shipping. 
And  all  the  world's  flags  flying  and  seagulls 

dipping. 

Yet  when  I  am  dust  my  penman  may  not 

know 
Those   water-tramphng   ships    which   made 

me  glow. 


192  BIOGRAPHY 

But    think    my   wonder    mad   and   fail   to 
find 

Their  glory,  even  dimly,  from  my  mind, 

And  yet  they  made  me: 

not  alone  the  ships 

But  men  hard-palmed  from  tallying-on  to 
whips. 

The    two    close    friends    of    nearly    twenty 
years. 

Sea-followers    both,    sea-wrestlers    and    sea- 
peers. 

Whose  feet  with  mine  wore  many  a  bolt- 
head  bright 

Treading  the  decks  beneath  the  riding  light. 

Yet  death  will  make  that  warmth  of  friend- 
ship cold 

And  who'll  know  what  one  said  and  what 
one  told 

Our    hearts'    communion    and    the    broken 
spells 


BIOGRAPHY  193 

When  the  loud  call  blew  at  the  strike  of 

bells? 
No  one,  I  know,  yet  let  me  be  believed 
A  soul  entirely  known  is  life  achieved. 

Years  blank  with  hardship  never  speak  a 

word 
Live  in  the  soul  to  make  the  being  stirred, 
Towns  can  be  prisons  where  the  spirit  dulls 
Away  from  mates  and  ocean-wandering  hulls, 
Away  from  all  bright  water  and  great  hills 
And  sheep-walks  where  the  curlews  cry  their 

fills. 
Away  in  towns,  where  eyes  have  nought  to 

see 
But  dead  museums  and  miles  of  misery 
And  floating  life  unrooted  from  man's  need 
And    miles    of   fish-hooks   baited   to    catch 

greed 
And  Hfe  made  wretched  out  of  human  ken 


194  BIOGRAPHY 

And  miles  of  shopping  women  served  by  men. 
So,  if  the  penman  sums  my  London  days 
Let  him  but  say  that  there  were  holy  ways, 
Dull  Bloomsbury  streets  of  dull  brick  man- 
sions old 
With  stinking  doors  where  women  stood  to 

scold 
And  drunken  waits  at  Christmas  with  their 

horn 
Droning  the  news,  in  snow,  that  Christ  was 

born  ; 
And  windy  gas  lamps  and  the  wet  roads 

shining 
And  that  old  carol  of  the  midnight  whining. 
And  that  old  room  (above  the  noisy  slum) 
Where   there  was  wine  and  fire  and  talk 

with  some 
Under  strange  pictures  of  the  wakened  soul 
To  whom  this  earth  was  but  a  burnt-out 

coal. 


BIOGRAPHY  195 

O  Time,  bring  back  those  midnights  and 
those  friends, 

Those  glittering  moments  that  a  spirit  lends 

That  all  may  be  imagined  from  the  flash 

The  cloud-hid  god-game  through  the  light- 
ning gash 

Those  hours  of  stricken  sparks  from  which 
men  took 

Light  to  send  out  to  men  in  song  or 
book. 

Those  friends  who  heard  St.  Pancras^  bells 
strike  two 

Yet  stayed  until  the  barber^s  cockerel  crew. 

Talking  of  noble  styles,  the  Frenchman's 
best, 

The  thought  beyond  great  poets  not  ex- 
pressed. 

The  glory  of  mood  where  human  frailty 
failed, 

The  forts  of  human  light  not  yet  assailed^ 


196  BIOGRAPHY 

Till  the  dim  room  had  mind  and  seemed  to 

brood 
Binding  our  wills  to  mental  brotherhood, 
Till  we  became  a  college,  and  each  night 
Was  discipline  and  manhood  and  delight, 
Till   our   farewells   and   winding   down   the 

stairs 
At  each  grey  dawn  had  meaning  that  Time 

spares, 
That  we,  so  hnked,  should  roam  the  whole 

world  round 
Teaching  the  ways  our  brooding  minds  had 

found 
Making  that  room  our  Chapter,   our  one 

mind 
Where  all  that  this  world  soiled  should  be 

refined. 

Often  at  night  I  tread  those  streets  again 
And  see  the  alley  glimmering  in  the  rain, 


BIOGRAPHY  197 

Yet  now  I  miss  that  sign  of  earlier  tramps 
A  house  with  shadows  of  plane-boughs  under 

lamps, 
The  secret  house  where  once  a  beggar  stood 
Trembling  and  blind  to  show  his  woe  for 

food. 
And  now  I  miss  that  friend  who  used  to 

walk 
Home   to   my   lodgings   with   me,    deep   in 

talk. 
Wearing    the    last    of    night    out    in    still 

streets 
Trodden    by   us    and    policemen    on    their 

beats 
And  cats,  but  else  deserted;   now  I  miss 
That  lively  mind  and  guttural  laugh  of  his 
And  that  strange  way  he  had  of  making 

gleam. 
Like  something  real,   the   art  we  used   to 

dream. 


198  BIOGRAPHY 

London  has  been  my  prison ;   but  my  books 
Hills  and  great  waters,  labouring  men   and 

brooks, 
Ships  and  deep  friendships  and  remembered 

days 
Which  even  now  set  all  my  mind  ablaze 
As  that  June  day  when,  in  the  red  bricks' 

chinks 
I    saw   the   old   Roman   ruins   white   with 

pinks 
And  felt  the  hillside  haunted  even  then 
By  not  dead  memory  of  the  Roman  men. 
And  felt  the  hillside  thronged  by  souls  un- 
seen 
Who  knew  the  interest  in  me  and  were  keen 
That    man    alive    should    understand    man 

dead 
So  many  centuries  since  the  blood  was  shed. 
And  quickened  with  strange  hush  because 

this  comer 


BIOGRAPHY  199 

Sensed    a    strange    soul    alive    behind    the 

summer.  ^ 

That  other  day  on  Ercall  when  the  stones 
Were  sunbleached  white,  Uke  long  unburied 

bones, 
While  the  bees  droned  and  all  the  air  was 

sweet 
From  honey  buried  underneath  my  feet, 
Honey  of  purple  heather  and  white  clover 
Sealed   in   its   gummy   bags    till    summer's 

over. 
Then  other  days  by  water,  by  bright  sea. 
Clear  as  clean  glass  and  my  bright  friend 

with  me. 
The  cove  clean  bottomed  where  we  saw  the 

brown 
Red   spotted  plaice   go   skimming   six   feet 

down  I 

And    saw   the    long   fronds   waving,   white 

with  shells, 


200  BIOGRAPHY 

Waving,  unfolding,  drooping,  to  the  swells; 
That  sadder  day  when  we  beheld  the  great 
And  terrible  beauty  of  a  Lammas  spate 
Roaring    white-mouthed    in    all    the    great 

cliff's  gaps 
Headlong,  tree-tumbhng  fury  of  collapse. 
While  drenching  clouds  drove  by  and  every 

sense 
Was  water  roaring  or  rushing  or  in  offence, 
And    mountain    sheep    stood    huddled    and 

blown  gaps  gleamed 
Where   torn   white   hair   of   torrents   shook 

and  streamed. 
That  sadder  day  when  we  beheld  again 
A  spate  going  down  in  sunshine  after  rain, 
When    the    blue    reach    of    water    leaping 

bright 
Was   one   long   ripple   and   clatter,    flecked 

with  white. 
And  that  far  day,  that  never  blotted  page 


BIOGRAPHY  201 

When  youth  was  bright  Hke  flowers  about 

old  age 
Fair  generations  bringing  thanks  for  life 
To  that  old  kindly  man  and  trembling  wife 
After  their  sixty  years :   Time  never  made 
A  better  beauty  since  the  Earth  was  laid 
Than  that  thanksgiving  given  to  grey  hair 
For   the   great   gift   of   Hfe   which   brought 

them  there. 

Days  of  endeavour  have  been  good:    the 

days 
Racing  in  cutters  for  the  comrade's  praise, 
The  day  they  led  my  cutter  at  the  turn 
Yet  could  not  keep  the  lead  and  dropped 

astern, 
The  moment  in  the  spurt  when  both  boats' 

oars 
Dipped  in  each  other's  wash  and  throats 

grew  hoarse 


202  BIOGRAPHY 

And    teeth    ground    into    teeth    and    both 

strokes  quickened 
Lashing  the  sea,  and  gasps  came,  and  hearts 

sickened 
And  coxswains  damned  us,  dancing,  banking 

stroke. 
To  put  our  weights  on,  though  our  hearts 

were  broke 
And  both  boats  seemed  to  stick  and  sea 

seemed  glue. 
The   tide   a   mill   race   we   were  struggling 

through 
And  every  quick  recover  gave  us  squints 
Of  them  still  there,  and  oar  tossed  water- 

ghnts 
And  cheering  came,  our  friends,  our  foemen 

cheering, 
A  long,  wild,  rallying  murmur  on  the  hear- 
ing— 
'Tort    Fore!"     and    '^  Starboard    Fore!" 

'Tort  Fore."     'Tort  Fore." 


BIOGRAPHY  203 

"Up  with  her,  Starboard/^  and  at  that  each 

oar 
Lightened,  though  arms  were  bursting,  and 

eyes  shut 
And  the  oak  stretchers  grunted  in  the  strut 
And  the  curse  quickened  from  the  cox,  our 

bows 
Crashed,  and  drove  talking  water,  we  made 

vows 
Chastity  vows  and  temperance ;  in  our  pain 
We  numbered  things  we'd  never  eat  again 
If  we  could  only  win ;   then  came  the  yell 
'^Starboard,''    "Port    Fore,''    and    then    a 

beaten  bell 
Rung    as    for    fire    to    cheer    us.     "Now.'' 

Oars  bent 
Soul  took  the  looms  now  body's  bolt  was 

spent, 
"Damn   it,    come    on   now,"    "On   now," 

"On  now,"  "Starboard." 


204  BIOGBAPUY 

'Tort  Fore/'     '^Up  with  her,  Port";    each 

cutter  harboured 
Ten  eye-shut  painsick  strugglers,   '^  Heave, 

oh,  heave,'' 
Catcalls    waked    echoes    like    a    shrieking 

sheave. 
''Heave,"    and   I    saw  a  back,   then    two. 

'Tort  Fore." 
"Starboard."     "Come  on."     I  saw  the  mid- 
ship oar 
And  knew  we  had  done  them.     "Port  Fore." 
"Starboard."     "Now." 
I  saw  bright  water  spurting  at  their  bow 
Their  cox'  full  face  an  instant.    They  were 

done. 
The  watchers'  cheering  almost  drowned  the 

gun. 
We  had  hardly  strength  to  toss  our  oars; 

our  cry 
Cheering  the  losing  cutter  was  a  sigh. 


BIOGBAPHT  205 

Other  bright  days  of  action  have  seemed 

great : 
Wild  days  in  a  pampero  off  the  Plate; 
Good  swimming  days,  at  Hog  Back  or  the 

Coves 
Which   the   young   gannet   and   the   corbie 

loves ; 
Surf-swimming    between    rollers,     catching 

breath 
Between  the  advancing  grave  and  breaking 

death, 
Then  shooting  up  into  the  sunbright  smooth 
To  watch  the  advancing  roller  bare  her  tooth, 
And  days  of  labour  also,  loading,  hauling ; 
Long  days  at  winch  or  capstan,   heaving, 

pawling ; 
The  days  with  oxen,  dragging  stone  from 

blasting, 
And    dusty   days   in   mills,    and   hot    days 

masting. 


206  BIOGRAPHY 

Trucking  on  dust-dry  deckings  smooth  like 

ice, 
And  hunts  in  mighty  wool-racks  after  mice  ; 
Mornings  with  buckwheat  when  the  fields 

did  blanch 
With  White  Leghorns  come  from  the  chicken 

ranch. 
Days  near  the  spring  upon  the  sunburnt  hill, 
Plying  the  maul  or  gripping  tight  the  drill. 
Delights  of  work  most  real,   delights  that 

change 
The    headache    life    of    towns    to    rapture 
^  strange 

Not   known  by   townsmen,   nor  imagined; 

health 
That  puts  new  glory  upon  mental  wealth 
And  makes  the  poor  man  rich. 

But  that  ends,  too, 
Health  with  its  thoughts  of  Hfe;    and  that 

bright  view 


BIOGBAPHT  207 

That  sunny  landscape  from  lifers  peak,  that 

glory, 
And  all  a  glad  man^s  comments  on  life's 

story 
And  thoughts  of  marvellous  towns  and  liv- 
ing men 
And  what  pens  tell  and  all  beyond  the  pen 
End,   and  are  summed  in  words  so   truly 

dead 
They  raise  no  image  of  the  heart  and  head, 
The  Ufe,  the  man  alive,  the  friend  we  knew, 
The  mind  ours  argued  with  or  listened  to, 
None;  but  are  dead,  and  all  life's  keenness, 

aU, 
Is  dead  as  print  before  the  funeral. 
Even    deader    after,    when    the    dates    are 

sought. 
And    cold    minds    disagree    with    what    we 

thought. 
This  many  pictured  world  of  many  passions 


208  BIOGRAPHY 

Wears  out  the  nations  as  a  woman  fashions, 
And  what  hfe  is  is  much  to  very  few, 
Men  being  so  strange,  so  mad,   and  what 

men  do 
So  good  to  watch  or  share;   but  when  men 

count 
Those  hours  of  Hfe  that  were  a  bursting 

fount, 
SparkUng    the    dusty    heart    with    living 

springs, 
There  seems  a  world,  beyond  our  earthly 

things. 
Gated    by    golden    moments,    each    bright 

time 
Opening  to  show  the  city  white  like  lime. 
High    towered    and    many    peopled.     This 

made  sure. 
Work  that  obscures  those  moments  seems 

impure, 
Making  our  not-returning  time  of  breath 


BIOGRAPHY  209 

Dull  with  the  ritual  and  records  of  death, 
That  frost   of  fact  by  which   our  wisdom 

gives 
Correctly  stated  death  to  all  that  lives. 

Best  trust  the  happy  moments.    What  they 

gave 
Makes  man  less  fearful  of  the  certain  grave, 
And  gives  his  work  compassion  and  new 

eyes. 
The  days  that  make  us  happy  make  us  wise. 


SHIPS 

I  CANNOT  tell  their  wonder  nor  make  known 
Magic  that  once  thrilled  through  me  to  the 

bone, 
But  all  men  praise  some  beauty,  tell  some 

tale. 
Vent  a  high  mood  which  makes  the  rest 

seem  pale, 
Pour    their   hearths    blood    to    flourish    one 

green  leaf. 
Follow  some  Helen  for  her  gift  of  grief. 
And  fail  in  what  they  mean,  whatever  they 

do: 
You  should  have  seen,  man  cannot  tell  to 

you 
The  beauty  of  the  ships  of  that  my  city. 

210 


SHIPS  211 

That  beauty  now  is  spoiled  by  the  sea's  pity ; 
For   one   may  haunt   the  pier   a   score   of 

times, 
Hearing    St.    Nicholas    bells    ring    out    the 

chimes, 
Yet   never   see   those  proud   ones   swaying 

home 
With  mainyards  backed  and  bows  a  cream 

of  foam. 
Those  bows  so  lovely-curving,  cut  so  fine, 
Those  coulters  of  the  many-bubbled  brine. 
As  once,  long  since,  when  all  the  docks  were 

filled 
With  that  sea-beauty  man  has  ceased  to 

build. 

Yet,    though    their    splendour    may    have 

ceased  to  be. 
Each  played  her  sovereign  part  in  making 

me; 


212  SHIPS 

Now  I  return  my  thanks  with  heart  and 

lips 
For  the  great  queenhness  of  all  those  ships. 

And  first  the  first  bright  memory,  still  so 

clear, 
An  autumn  evening  in  a  golden  year, 
When  in  the  last  lit  moments  before  dark 
The  Chepica,  a  steel-grey  lovely  barque, 
Came  to  an  anchor  near  us  on  the  flood, 
Her  trucks  aloft  in  sun-glow  red  as  blood. 

Then  come  so  many  ships  that  I  could 
fill 

Three  docks  with  their  fair  hulls  remem- 
bered still. 

Each  with  her  special  memory's  special 
grace. 

Riding  the  sea,  making  the  waves  give 
place 


SHIPS  213 

To     delicate    high     beauty;      man's     best 

strength, 
Noble  in  every  line  in  all  their  length. 
Ailsa,  Genista,  ships,  with  long  jibbooms, 
The  Wanderer  with  great  beauty  and  strange 

dooms, 
Liverpool  (mightiest  then)  superb,  subhme, 
The  California  huge,  as  slow  as  time. 
The  Copley  swift,  the  perfect  J.  T.  North, 
The  lovehest  barque  my  city  has  sent  forth, 
Dainty  John  Lockett  well  remembered  yet, 
The  splendid  Argus  with  her  skysail  set. 
Stalwart  Drumcliff,  white-blocked,  majestic 

Sierras, 
Divine  bright  ships,  the  water's  standard- 
bearers  ; 
Melpomene,  Euphrosyne,  and  their  sweet 
Sea-troubling  sisters  of  the  Fernie  fleet ; 
Corunna  (in  whom  my  friend  died)  and  the 
old 


214  SHIPS 

Long    since    loved    Esmeralda    long    since 

sold. 
Centurion  passed  in  Rio,  Glaucus  spoken, 
Aladdin  burnt,  the  Bidston  water-broken, 
Yola,  in  whom  my  friend   sailed,  Dawpool 

trim. 
Fierce-bowed  Egeria  plunging  to  the  swim, 
Stanmore   wide-sterned,    sweet    Cupica,    tall 

Bard, 
Queen  in  all  harbours  with   her  moon  sail 

yard. 

Though  I  tell  many,  there  must  still  be 
others, 

McVickar  Marshall's  ships  and  Fernie 
Brothers', 

LochSy  CountieSj  Shires,  Drums,  the  count- 
less lines 

Whose  house-flags  all  were  once  famihar 
signs 


SHIPS  215 

At    high    main-trucks    on    Mersey's    windy 

ways 
When  sunlight  made  the  wind-white  water 

blaze. 
Their  names  bring  back  old  mornings,  when 

the  docks 
Shone    with    their    house-flags    and     their 

painted  blocks, 
Their    raking    masts    below    the    Custom 

House 
And    all    the    marvellous    beauty    of    their 

bows. 

Familiar  steamers,  too,  majestic  steamers, 
Shearing  Atlantic  roller-tops  to  streamers, 
Umbriaj  Etruria,  noble,  still  at  sea, 
The  grandest,  then,  that  man  had  brought 

to  be. 
Majestic,  City  of  Paris,  City  of  Rome, 
Forever  jealous  racers,  out  and  home. 


216  SHIPS 

The  Alfred  HoWs  blue  smoke-stacks  down 

the  stream, 
The  fair  Loanda  with  her  bows  a-cream. 
Booth  Hners,  Anchor  Uners,  Red  Star  Hners, 
The   marks    and   styles   of   countless   ship- 
designers, 
The  Magdalena,  Puno,  Potosi, 
Lost  Cotopaxi,  all  well  known  to  me. 

These  splendid  ships,  each  with  her  grace, 

her  glory, 
Her  memory  of  old  song  or  conu-ade's  story. 
Still  in  my  mind  the  image  of  life's  need, 
Beauty  in  hardest  action,  beauty  indeed. 
''They  built  great  ships  and  sailed  them'' 

sounds  most  brave 
Whatever  arts  we  have  or  fail  to  have; 
I  touch  my  country's  mind,  I  come  to  grips 
With  half  her  purpose,   thinking  of   these 

ships 


SHIPS  217 

That   art  untouched   by  softness,   all  that 

line 
Drawn  ringing  hard  to  stand  the  test  of 

brine, 
That    nobleness    and    grandeur,    all     that 

beauty 
Born  of  a  manly  life  and  bitter  duty, 
That   splendour    of    fine   bows   which    yet 

could  stand 
The  shock  of  rollers  never  checked  by  land. 
That  art  of  masts,  sail  crowded,  fit  to  break, 
Yet    stayed    to    strength    and    backstayed 

into  rake. 
The  life  demanded  by  that  art,  the  keen 
Eye-puckered,     hard-case     seamen,     silent, 

lean,  — 
They  are  grander  things  than  all  the  art  of 

towns. 
Their  tests  are  tempests  and  the  sea  that 

drowns. 


218  SHIPS 

They  are  my  country's  line,  her  great  art 

done 
By  strong  brains  labouring  on  the  thought 

unwon, 
They  mark  our  passage  as  a  race  of  men, 
Earth  will  not  see  such  ships  as  those  again. 


TRUTH 

Man  with  his  burning  soul 
Has  but  an  hour  of  breath 
To  build  a  ship  of  Truth 
In  which  his  soul  may  sail, 
Sail  on  the  sea  of  death. 
For  death  takes  toll 
Of  beauty,  courage,  youth, 
Of  all  but  Truth. 

Life's  city  ways  are  dark, 

Men  mutter  by;  the  wells 

Of  the  great  waters  moan. 

0  death,  O  sea,  O  tide, 

The  waters  moan  Hke  bells. 

No  light,  no  mark, 

The  soul  goes  out  alone 

On  seas  unknown. 
219 


220  TBUTH 

Stripped  of  all  purple  robes, 

Stripped  of  all  golden  lies, 

I  will  not  be  afraid. 

Truth  will  preserve  through  death; 

Perhaps  the  stars  will  rise, 

The  stars  like  globes. 

The  ship  my  striving  made 

May  see  night  fade. 


THEY  CLOSED  HER  EYES 

FROM   THE   SPANISH   OF   DON   GUSTAVO 
A.     BECQUER. 

They  closed  her  eyes, 
They  were  still  open; 
They  hid  her  face 
With  a  white  linen, 
And,  some  sobbing. 
Others  in  silence. 
From  the  sad  bedroom 
I  All  came  away. 

The  night-Ught  in  a  dish 
Burned  on  the  floor. 
It  flung  on  the  wall 
The  bed's  shadow, 

221 


222  THEY  CLOSED  HER  EYES 

And  in  that  shadow 
One  saw  sometimes 
Drawn  in  sharp  Une 
The  body's  shape. 

The  day  awakened 
At  its  first  whiteness 
With  its  thousand  noises; 
The  town  awoke 
Before  that  contrast 
Of  hfe  and  strangeness, 
Of  hght  and  darkness. 
I  thought  a  moment 

My  God,  how  lonely 

The  dead  are! 

From  the  house,  shoulder-high 
To  church  they  bore  her, 
And  in  a  chapel 
They  left  her  bier.^ 


THET  CLOSED  HER  EYES  223 

There  they  surrounded 
Her  pale  body 
With  yellow  candles 
And  black  stuffs. 

At  the  last  stroke 

Of  the  ringing  for  the  souls 

An  old  crone  finished 

Her  last  prayers. 

She  crossed  the  narrow  nave; 

The  doors  moaned,    , 

And  the  holy  place 

Remained  deserted. 

From  a  clock  one  heard 
The  measured  ticking, 
And  from  some  candles 
The  guttering. 
All  things  there 
Were  so  grim  and  sad, 


224  TBET  CLOSED  HEB  EYES 

So  dark  and  rigid, 

That  I  thought  a  moment, 

My  Godj  how  lonely 

The  dead  are! 

From  the  high  belfry 
The  tongue  of  iron 
Clanged,  giving  out 
His  sad  farewell. 
Crape  on  their  clothes, 
Her  friends  and  kindred 
Passed  in  a  row. 
Making  procession. 

In  the  last  vault, 
Dark  and  narrow, 
.  The  pickaxe  opened 
A  niche  at  one  end; 
There  they  laid  her  down. 
Soon  they  bricked  the  place  up. 


THEY  CLOSED  BEB  ETE8  225 

And  with  a  gesture 
Bade  grief  farewell. 

Pickaxe  on  shoulder 
The  grave-digger, 
Singing  between  his  teeth, 
Passed  out  of  sight. 
The  night  came  down; 
It  was  all  silent. 
Lost  in  the  shadows 
I  thought  a  moment. 

My  God,  how  lonely 

The  dead  ar^! 

In  the  long  nights 
Of  bitter  winter, 
When  the  wind  makes 
The  rafters  creak. 
When  the  violent  rain 
Lashes  the  windows, 
Lonely,  I  remember 
That  poor  girl. 


226  THEY  CLOSED  HER  EYES 


There  falls  the  rain 
With  its  noise  eternal. 
There  the  north  wind 
Fights  with  the  rain. 
Stretched  in  the  hollow 
Of  the  damp  bricks 
Perhaps  her  bones 
Freeze  with  the  cold. 

Does  the  dust  return  to  dust? 

Does  the  soul  fly  to  heaven? 

Is  all  vile  matter, 

Rottenness,  filthiness? 

I  know  not.     But 

There  is  something  —  something 

That  I  cannot  explain, 

Something  that  gives  us 

Loathing,  terror, 

To  leave  the  dead 

So  alone,  so  wretched. 


THE  HARP 

FROM    THE    SPANISH    OF    DON    GUSTAVO 
A.    BECQUER 

In  a  dark  corner  of  the  room, 
Perhaps  forgotten  by  its  owner, 
Silent  and  dim  with  dust, 
I  saw  the  harp. 

How  many  musics  slumbered  in  its  strings, 
As  the  bird  sleeps  in  the  branches, 
Waiting  the  snowy  hand 
That  could  awaken  them. 

Ah  me,  I  thought,  how  many,  many  times 
Genius  thus  slumbers  in  a  human  soul. 
Waiting,  as  Lazarus  waited,  for  a  voice 
To  bid  him  '^Rise  and  walk/' 

227 


^.^,  /  \  ^  SONNET 

I'' 

FROM    THE    SPANISH    OF    DON    FRANCISCO    DE 
QUEVEDO 


I  SAW  the  ramparts  of  my  native  land, 
One  time  so  strong,  now  dropping  in  decay. 
Their  strength  destroyed  by  this  new  age^s 

way 
That  has  worn  out  and  rotted  what  was 

grand. 
I  went  into  the  fields :   there  I  could  see 
The  sun  drink  up  the  waters  newly  thawed, 
And  on  the  hills  the  moaning  cattle  pawed ; 
Their  miseries  robbed  the  day  of  light  for 

me. 

I  went  into  my  house :   I  saw  how  spotted, 
Decaying  things  made  that  old  home  their 
prize. 

228 


SONNET  229 

My    withered    walking-staff    had    come    to 

bend  ; 
I  felt   the  age  had  won;    my  sword  was 

rotted, 
And  there  was  nothing  on  which  I  set  my 

eyes 
That  was  not  a  reminder  of  the  end. 


SONNET    ON    THE    DEATH    OF    HIS 
WIFE 

FROM  THE  PORTUGUESE  OF  ANTONIO  DE 
FERREIRO 

That  blessed  sunlight  that  once  showed  to 

me 
My  way  to  heaven  more  plain  more  cer- 
tainly, 
And  with  her  bright  beam  banished  utterly 
All  trace  of  mortal  sorrow  far  from  me, 
Has  gone  from  me,  has  left  her  prison  sad, 
And  I  am  bhnd  and  alone  and  gone  astray, 
Like  a  lost  pilgrim  in  a  desert  way 
Wanting  the  blessed  guide  that  once  he  had. 

Thus  with  a  spirit  bowed  and  mind  a  blur 

I  trace  the  holy  steps  where  she  has  gone, 
230 


SONNET  ON   THE  DEATH  OF  HIS   WIFE       231 

By  valleys  and  by  meadows  and  by  moun- 
tains, 

And  everywhere  I  catch  a  glimpse  of  her. 

She  takes  me  by  the  hand  and  leads  me  on, 

And  my  eyes  follow  her,  my  e3^es  made 
fountains. 


SONG 

One  sunny  time  in  May 
When  lambs  were  sporting, 
The  sap  ran  in  the  spray 
And  I  went  courting, 
And  all  the  apple  boughs 
Were  bright  with  blossom, 
I  picked  an  early  rose 
For  my  lovers  bosom. 

And  then  I  met  her  friend, 

Down  by  the  water, 

Who  cried  ''She's  met  her  end, 

That  gray-eyed  daughter; 

That  voice  of  hers  is  stilled 

Her  beauty  broken." 

0  me,  my  love  is  killed, 

My  love  unspoken. 
232 


SONG  233 

She  was  too  sweet,  too  dear, 

To  die  so  cruel, 

O  Death,  why  leave  me  here 

And  take  my  jewel? 

Her  voice  went  to  the  bone, 

So  true,  so  ringing. 

And  now  I  go  alone. 

Winter  or  springing. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  SIR  BORS 

Would  I  could  win  some  quiet  and  rest,  and 
a  little  ease, 

In  the  cool  grey  hush  of  the  dusk,  in  the 
dim  green  place  of  the  trees. 

Where  the  birds  are  singing,  singing,  sing- 
ing, crying  aloud 

The  song  of  the  red,  red  rose  that  blossoms 
beyond  the  seas. 

Would  I  could  see  it,  the  rose,  when  the 
light  begins  to  fail. 

And  a  lone  white  star  in  the  West  is  glim- 
mering on  the  mail; 

The  red,  red  passionate  rose  of  the  sacred 
blood  of  the  Christ, 

In  the  shining  chalice  of  God,  the  cup  of 
the  Holy  Grail. 

234 


THE  BALLAD  OF  SIR  BORS  235 

The   dusk   comes   gathering   grey,   and   the 

darkness  dims  the  West, 
The  oxen  low  to  the  byre,  and  all  bells  ring 

to  rest; 
But  I  ride  over  the  moors,  for  the  dusk  still 

bides  and  waits. 
That  brims  my  soul  with  the  glow  of  the 

rose  that  ends  the  Quest. 

My  horse  is  spavined   and  ribbed,  and  his 

bones  come  through  his  hide. 
My  sword  is  rotten  with  rust,  but  I  shake 

the  reins  and  ride. 
For  the  bright  white  birds  of  God  that  nest 

in  the  rose  have  called. 
And  never  a  township  now  is  a  town  where 

I  can  bide. 

It  will  happen  at  last,  at  dusk,  as  my  horse 
limps  down  the  fell, 


236  THE  BALLAD   OF  SIR  BOBS 

A  star  will  glow  like  a  note  God  strikes  on  a 

silver  bell, 
And   the   bright   white   birds   of   God   will 

carry  my  soul  to  Christ, 
And  the  sight  of  the  Rose,  the  Rose,  will 

pay  for  the  years  of  hell. 


SPANISH  WATERS 

Spanish  waters,  Spanish  waters,  you  are 
ringing  in  my  ears, 

Like  a  slow  sweet  piece  of  music  from  the 
grey  forgotten  years; 

TeUing  tales,  and  beating  tunes,  and  bring- 
ing weary  thoughts  to  me 

Of  the  sandy  beach  at  Muertos,  where  I 
would  that  I  could  be. 

There^s  a  surf  breaks  on  Los  Muertos,  and 

it  never  stops  to  roar. 
And  it's  there  we  came  to  anchor,  and  it's 

there  we  went  ashore. 
Where  the  blue  lagoon  is  silent  amid  snags 

of  rotting  trees. 
Dropping  like  the  clothes  of  corpses  cast  up 

by  the  seas. 

237 


238  SPANISH    IVATER8 

We  anchored  at  Los  Muertos  when  the  dip- 
ping sun  was  red, 

We  left  her  half-a-mile  to  sea,  to  west  of 
Nigger  Head; 

And  before  the  mist  was  on  the  Cay,  before 
the  day  was  done, 

We  were  all  ashore  on  Muertos  with  the 
gold  that  we  had  won. 

We  bore  it  through  the  marshes  in  a  half- 
score  battered  chests. 

Sinking,  in  the  sucking  quagmires,  to  the 
sunburn  on  our  breasts, 

Heaving  over  tree-trunks,  gasping,  damning 
at  the  flies  and  heat, 

Longing  for  a  long  drink,  out  of  silver,  in 
the  ship^s  cool  lazareet. 

The  moon  came  white  and  ghostly  as  we 
laid  the  treasure  down. 


SPANISH  WATEBS  239 

There  was  gear  there' d  make  a  beggarman 

as  rich  as  Lima  Town, 
Copper  charms  and  silver  trinkets  from  the 

chests  of  Spanish  crews, 
Gold  doubloons  and  double  moydores,  louis 

d'ors  and  portagues, 

Clumsy    yellow-metal    earrings    from    the 

Indians  of  Brazil, 
Uncut  emeralds  out  of  Rio,  bezoar  stones 

from  Guayaquil; 
Silver,  in  the  crude  and  fashioned,  pots  of 

old  Arica  bronze. 
Jewels  from  the  bones  of  Incas  desecrated 

by  the  Dons. 

We  smoothed  the  place  with  mattocks,  and 
we  took  and  blazed  the  tree. 

Which  marks  yon  where  the  gear  is  hid  that 
none  will  ever  see. 


240  SPANISH   WATERS 

And  we  laid   aboard   the  ship   again,   and 

south  away  we  steers, 
Through    the    loud    surf    of    Los    Muertos 

which  is  beating  in  my  ears. 

I'm  the  last  aHve  that  knows  it.    All  the 

rest  have  gone  their  wa^'-s 
Killed,  or  died,  or  come  to  anchor  in  the  old 

Mulatas  Cays, 
And  I  go  singing,  fiddling,  old  and  starved 

and  in  despair. 
And  I  know  where  all  that  gold  is  hid,  if  I 

were  only  there. 

It's  not  the  way  to  end  it  all.    I'm  old, 

and  nearly  blind. 
And  an  old  man's  past's  a  strange  thing, 

for  it  never  leaves  his  mind. 
And  I  see  in  dreams,   awhiles,   the  beach, 

the  sun's  disc  dipping  red. 


SPANISH  WATERS  241 

And  the  tall  ship,  under  topsails,  swaying 
in  past  Nigger  Head. 

I'd  be  glad  to  step  ashore  there.    Glad  to 

take  a  pick  and  go 
To  the  lone  blazed  coco-palm  tree  in  the 

place  no  others  know, 
And    Hft    the    gold    and    silver    that    has 

mouldered  there  for  years 
By  the  loud  surf  of  Los  Muertos  which  is 

beating  in  my  ears. 


CARGOES 

QuiNQuiREME    of    Nineveh    from    distant 

Ophir, 
Rowing  home  to  haven  in  sunny  Palestine, 
With  a  cargo  of  ivory, 
And  apes  and  peacocks, 
Sandalwood,    cedarwood,    and   sweet   white 

wine. 

Stately  Spanish  galleon  coming  from  the 
Isthmus, 

Dipping  through  the  Tropics  by  the  palm- 
green  shores. 

With  a  cargo  of  diamonds, 

Emeralds,  amethysts. 

Topazes,  and  cinnamon,  and  gold  moidores. 

242 


CARGOES  243 

Dirty    British    coaster    with    a  salt-caked 

smoke  stack, 
Butting  through  the    Channel  in  the  mad 

March  days, 
With  a  cargo  of  Tyne  coal, 
Road-rails,  pig-lead. 
Firewood,  iron-ware,  and  cheap  tin  trays.' 


CAPTAIN    STRATTON\S    FANCY 

Oh  some  are  fond  of  red  wine,  and  some  are 

fond  of  white, 
And  some  are  all  for  dancing  by  the  pale 

moonlight  ; 
But  rum  alone's  the  tipple,  and  the  heart's 

delight 
Of  the  old  bold  mate  of  Henry  Morgan. 

Oh   some   are   fond   of   Spanish   wine,    and 

some  are  fond  of  French, 
And  some'U  swallow  tay  and  stuff  fit  only 

for  a  wench; 
But  I'm  for  right  Jamaica  till  I  roll  beneath 

the  bench, 
Says  the  old  bold  mate  of  Henry  Morgan. 

244 


CAPTAIN  STBATTON'S  FANCY  245 

Oh  some  are  for  the  hly,  and  some  are  for 

the  rose, 
But  I  am  for  the  sugar-cane  that  in  Jamaica 

grows ; 
For  it's  that  that  makes  the  bonny  drink  to 

warm  my  copper  nose, 
Says  the  old  bold  mate  of  Henry  Morgan. 

Oh  some  are  fond  of  fiddles,   and  a  song 

well  sung, 
And  some  are  all  for  music  for  to  lilt  upon 

the  tongue; 
But  mouths  were  made  for  tankards,  and 

for  sucking  at  the  bung. 
Says  the  old  bold  mate  of  Henry  Morgan. 

Oh  some  are  fond  of  dancing,  and  some  are 

fond  of  dice, 
And  some  are  all  for  red  lips,  and  pretty 

lasses'  eyes; 


246  CAPTAIN  STRATTON'8  FANCY 

But  a  right  Jamaica  puncheon  is  a  finer 
prize 
To  the  old  bold  mate  of  Henry  Morgan. 

Oh  some  that's  good  and  godly  ones  they 

hold  that  it's  a  sin 
To  troll  the  jolly  bowl  around,  and  let  the 

dollars  spin; 
But  I'm  for  toleration  and  for  drinking  at 

an  inn, 
Says  the  old  bold  mate  of  Henry  Morgan. 

Oh  some  are  sad  and  wretched  folk  that  go 

in  silken  suits, 
And  there's  a  mort  of  wicked  rogues  that 

live  in  good  reputes; 
So  I'm  for  drinking  honestly,  and  dying  in 

my  boots, 
Like  an  old  bold  mate  of  Henry  Morgan. 


AN  OLD  SONG  RE-SUNG 

I  SAW  a  ship  a-sailing,  a-sailing,  a-sailing, 
With  emeralds  and  rubies  and  sapphires  in 

her  hold; 
And  a  bosun  in  a  blue  coat  bawling  at  the 

railing, 
Piping  through  a  silver  call  that  had  a  chain 

of  gold; 
The  summer  wind  was  failing  and  the  tall 

ship  rolled. 

I     saw      a     ship      a-steering,      a-steering, 

a-steering, 
With  roses  in  red  thread  worked  upon  her 

sails ; 
With  sacks  of  purple  amethysts,  the  spoils 

of  buccaneering, 

247 


248  AN   OLD  SONG   RE- SUNG 

Skins  of  musky  yellow  wine,  and  silks  in 

bales, 
Her  merry  men  were  cheering,  hauling  on 

the  brails. 

I  saw  a  ship  a-sinking,  a-sinking,  a-sinking. 
With  glittering  sej;-water  splashing  on  her 

decks, 
With    seamen    in    her    spirit-room    singing 

songs  and  drinking. 
Pulling  claret  bottles  down,   and  knocking 

off  the  necks, 
The  broken  glass  was  chinking  as  she  sank 

among  the  wrecks. 


ST.  MARY'S  BELLS 

It's  pleasant  in  Holy  Mary 

By  San  Marie  lagoon, 

The  bells  they  chime  and  jingle 

From  dawn  to  afternoon. 

They  rhyme  and  chime  and  mingle, 

They  pulse  and  boom  and  beat, 

And  the  laughing  bells  are  gentle 

And  the  mournful  bells  are  sweet. 

Oh,  who  are  the  men  that  ring  them, 

The  bells  of  San  Marie, 

Oh,  who  but  sonsie  seamen 

Come  in  from  over  sea. 

And  merrily  in  the  belfries 

They  rock  and  sway  and  hale, 

And  send  the  bells  a-j  angle. 

And  down  the  lusty  ale. 
249 


250  ST.  mart's  bells 

It's  pleasant  in  Holy  Mary 
To  hear  the  beaten  bells 
Come  booming  into  music, 
Which  throbs,  and  clangs,  and  swells, 
From  sunset  till  the  daybreak, 
From  dawn  to  afternoon. 
In  port  of  Holy  Mary 
On  San  Marie  lagoon. 


LONDON  TOWN 

Oh  London  Town's  a  fine  town,  and  Lon- 
don sights  are  rare, 

And  London  ale  is  right  ale,  and  brisk's  the 
London  air. 

And  busily  goes  the  world  there,  but  crafty 
grows  the  mind. 

And  London  Town  of  all  towns  I'm  glad  to 
leave  behind. 

Then  hey  for  croft  and  hop-yard,  and  hill, 

and  field,  and  pond, 
With  Breden  Hill  before  me  and  Malvern 

Hill  beyond. 
The  hawthorn  white  i'  the  hedgerow,  and 

all  the  spring's  attire 
In  the  comely  land  of  Teme  and  Lugg,  and 

Clent,  and  Clee,  and  Wyre. 

251 


252  LONDON  TOWN 

Oh  London  girls  are  brave  girls,  in  silk  and 

cloth  o'  gold, 
And  London  shops  are  rare  shops,   where 

gallant  things  are  sold, 
And    bonnily    cUnks    the    gold    there,    but 

drowsily  blinks  the  eye. 
And  London  Town  of  all  towns  I'm  glad  to 

hurry  by. 

Then,   hey   for   covert  and  woodland,    and 

ash  and  elm  and  oak, 
Tewkesbury  inns,  and  Malvern  roofs,  and 

Worcester  chimney  smoke. 
The  apple  trees  in  the  orchard,  the  cattle  in 

the  byre. 
And   all   the   land   from   Ludlow   town   to 

Bredon  church's  spire. 

Oh  London  tunes  are  new  tunes,  and  Lon- 
don books  are  wise. 


LONDON   TOWN  253 

And  London  plays  are  rare  plays,  and  fine 

to  country  eyes, 
But  craftily    fares    the    knave    there,    and 

wickedly  fares  the  Jew, 
And  London  Town  of  all  towns  I^m  glad  to 

hurry  through. 

So  hey  for  the  road,  the  west  road,  by  mill 

and  forge  and  fold. 
Scent  of  the  fern  and  song  of  the  lark  by 

brook,  and  field,  and  wold. 
To  the  comely  folk  at  the  hearth-stone  and 

the  talk  beside  the  fire. 
In  the  hearty  land,  where  I  was  bred,  my 

land  of  heart's  desire. 


THE  EMIGRANT 

Going  by  Daly's  shanty  I  heard  the  boys 

within 
Dancing  the  Spanish  hornpipe  to  DriscoU's 

vioHn, 
I   heard   the   sea-boots   shaking   the   rough 

planks  of  the  floor, 
But  I  was  going  westward,  I  hadn't  heart 

for  more. 

All  down  the  windy  village  the  noise  rang 

in  my  ears. 
Old  sea  boots  stamping,  shuffling,  it  brought 

the  bitter  tears. 
The  old  tune  piped  and  quavered,  the  Hits 

came  clear  and  strong. 
But  I  was  going  westward,  I  couldn't  join 

the  song. 

254 


THE  EMIGRANT  255 

There  were  the  grey  stone  houses,  the  night 

wind  blowing  keen, 
The    hill-sides    pale    with    moonUght,    the 

young  corn  springing  green. 
The  hearth  nooks  lit  and  kindly,  with  dear 

friends  good  to  see. 
But  I  was  going  westward,   and  the  ship 

waited  me. 


PORT  OF  HOLY  PETER 

The  blue  laguna  rocks  and  quivers, 

Dull  gurgling  eddies  twist  and  spin, 
The  climate  does  for  people's  livers, 
It's  a  nasty  place  to  anchor  in 
Is  Spanish  port, 
Fever  port, 
Port  of  Holy  Peter. 

The  town  begins  on  the  sea-beaches. 
And   the  town's  mad  with   the  stinging 
flies, 
The  drinking  water's  mostly  leeches, 
It's  a  far  remove  from  Paradise 
Is  Spanish  port, 
Fever  port, 
Port  of  Holy  Peter. 

256 


POET  OF  HOLT  PETER  267 

There's  sand-bagging  and  throat-slitting, 

And  quiet  graves  in  the  sea  slime, 
Stabbing,  of  course,  and  rum-hitting. 
Dirt,  and  drink,  and  stink,  and  crime, 
In  Spanish  port, 
Fever  port, 
Port  of  Holy  Peter. 

All  the  day  the  wind's  blowing 

From  the  sick  swamp  below  the  hills. 
All  the  night  the  plague's  growing. 
And  the  dawn  brings  the  fever  chills, 
In  Spanish  port. 
Fever  port, 
Port  of  Holy  Peter. 

You  get  a  thirst  there's  no  slaking. 

You  get  the  chills  and  fever-shakes, 

Tongue  yellow  and  head  aching, 

And  then  the  sleep  that  never  wakes, 
s 


258  POET  OF  HOLY  PETER 

And  all  the  year  the  heat's  baking, 
The  sea  rots  and  the  earth  quakes, 
In  Spanish  port. 
Fever  port. 
Port  of  Holy  Peter. 


BEAUTY 

I  HAVE  seen  dawn  and  sunset  on  moors  and 

windy  hills 
Coming   in    solemn    beauty   like   slow    old 

tunes  of  Spain: 
I   have   seen   the   lady   April   bringing   the 

daffodils, 
Bringing  the  springing  grass  and  the  soft 

warm  April  rain. 

I  have  heard  the  song  of  the  blossoms  and 

the  old  chant  of  the  sea, 
And    seen    strange    lands    from    under    the 

arched  white  sails  of  ships; 
But  the  loveliest  things  of  beauty  God  ever 

has  showed  to  me, 
Are  her  voice,  and  her  hair,  and  eyes,  and 

the  dear  red  curve  of  her  lips. 

259 


THE  SEEKERS 

Feiends    and    loves    we    have    none,    nor 

wealth  nor  blessed  abode, 
But  the  hope  of  the  City  of  God  at  the 

other  end  of  the  road. 

Not  for  us  are  content,  and  quiet,  and  peace 

of  mind, 
For  we  go  seeking  a  city  that  we  shall  never 

find. 

There  is  no  solace  on  earth  for  us  —  for 

such  as  we  — 

Who  search  for  a  hidden  city  that  we  shall 

never  see. 

260 


,     THE  SEEKERS  261 

Only  the  road  and  the  dawn,  the  sun,  the 

wind,  and  the  rain. 
And  the  watch  fire  under  stars,  and  sleep, 

and  the  road  again. 

We  seek  the  City  of  God,  and  the  haunt 

where  beauty  dwells. 
And  we  find  the  noisy  mart  and  the  sound 

of  burial  bells. 

Never  the  golden  city,  where  radiant  people 

meet, 
But  the  dolorous  town  where  mourners  are 

going  about  the  street. 

We  travel  the  dusty  road  till  the  light  of 

the  day  is  dim. 
And  sunset  shows  us  spires  away  on  the 

world^s  rim. 


262  THE  8EEKEBS 

We  travel  from  dawn  to  dusk,  till  the  day 

is  past  and  by, 
Seeking  the  Holy  City  beyond  the  rim  of 

the  sky. 

Friends  and  loves  we  have  none,  nor  wealth 

nor  blest  abode. 
But  the  hope  of  the  City  of  God  at  the 

other  end  of  the  road. 


PRAYER 

When  the  last  sea  is  sailed,  when  the  last 

shallow^s  charted, 
When  the  last  field  is  reaped,  and  the  last 

harvest  stored, 
When  the  last  fire  is  out  and  the  last  guest 

departed. 
Grant  the  last  prayer  that  I  shall  pray,  be 

good  to  me,  0  Lord. 

And  let  me  pass  in  a  night  at  sea,  a  night 

of  storm  and  thunder. 
In  the  loud  crying  of  the  wind  through  sail 

and  rope  and  spar, 
Send  me  a  ninth  great  peaceful  wave  to 

drown  and  roll  me  under 
To  the  cold  tunny-fishes  home  where  the 

drowned  galleons  are. 

263 


264  PRATER 

And  in  the  dim  green  quiet  place  far  out  of 

sight  and  hearing, 
Grant  I  may  hear  at  whiles  the  wash  and 

thresh  of  the  sea-foam 
About   the  fine  keen  bows  of   the  stately 

clippers  steering 
Towards  the  lone  northern  star  and  the  fair 

ports  of  home. 


DAWN 

The  dawn  comes  cold :  the  haystack  smokes, 

The  green  twigs  crackle  in  the  fire, 
The  dew  is  dripping  from  the  oaks. 
And  sleepy  men  bear  milking-yokes 
Slowly  towards  the  cattle-byre. 

Down  in  the  town  a  clock  strikes  six, 

The  grey  east  heaven  burns  and  glows. 
The  dew  shines  on  the  thatch  of  ricks, 
A  slow  old  crone  comes  gathering  sticks, 
The  red  cock  in  the  ox-yard  crows. 

Beyond  the  stack  where  we  have  lain 
The  road  runs  twisted  like  a  snake 
(The  white  road  to  the  land  of  Spain), 
The  road  that  we  must  foot  again, 
Though  the  feet  halt  and  the  heart  ache. 

265 


LAUGH  AND  BE  MERRY 

Laugh  and  be  merry,  remember,  better  the 

world  with  a  song. 
Better  the  world  with  a  blow  in  the  teeth  of 

a  wrong. 
Laugh,  for  the  time  is  brief,  a  thread  the 

length  of  a  span. 
Laugh  and  be  proud  to  belong  to  the  old 

proud  pageant  of  man. 

Laugh  and  be  merry :    remember,  in  olden 

time. 
God  made  Heaven  and  Earth  for  joy  He 

took  in  a  rhyme. 
Made  them,  and  filled  them  full  with  the 

strong  red  wine  of  His  mirth. 
The  splendid  joy  of  the  stars:  the  joy  of 

the  earth. 

266 


LAUGH  AND  BE  MERRY  267 

So  we  must  laugh  and  drink  from  the  deep 

blue  cup  of  the  sky, 
Join  the  jubilant  song  of  the  great  stars 

sweeping  by, 
Laugh,  and  battle,  and  work,  and  drink  of  the 

wine  outpoured 
In  the  dear  green  earth,  the  sign  of  the  joy 

of  the  Lord. 

Laugh  and  be  merry  together,  like  brothers 

akin, 
Guesting  awhile  in  the  rooms  of  a  beautiful 

inn, 
Glad  till  the  dancing  stops,  and  the  lilt  of 

the  music  ends. 
Laugh  till  the  game  is  played;   and  be  you 

merry,  my  friends. 


JUNE  TWILIGHT 

The  twilight  comes;  the  sun 

Dips  down  and  sets, 
The  boys  have  done 

Play  at  the  nets. 

In  a  warm  golden  glow 
The  woods  are  steeped. 

The  shadows  grow; 
The  bat  has  cheeped. 

Sweet  smells  the  new-mown  hay; 

The  mowers  pass 

Home,  each  his  way. 

Through  the  grass. 
268 


JUNE   TWILIGHT  269 

The  night-wind  stirs  the  fern, 

A  night-jar  spins; 
The  windows  burn 

In  the  inns. 

Dusky  it  grows.     The  moon! 

The  dews  descend. 
Love,  can  this  beauty  in  our  hearts 

End? 


ROADWAYS 

One  road  leads  to  London,- 
One  road  runs  to  Wales, 

My  road  leads  me  seawards 
To  the  white  dipping  sails. 

One  road  leads  to  the  river. 
As  it  goes  singing  slow; 

My  road  leads  to  shipping, 
Where  the  bronzed  sailors  go. 

Leads  me,  lures  me,  calls  me 
,   To  salt  green  tossing  sea; 
A  road  without  earth's  road-dust 
Is  the  right  road  for  me. 

A  wet  road  heaving,  shining. 

And  wild  with  seagulls'  cries, 
270 


BO  AD  WATS  271 

A  mad  salt  sea-wind  blowing 
The  salt  spray  in  my  eyes. 

My  road  calls  me,  lures  me 
West,  east,  south,  and  north; 

Most  roads  lead  men  homewards, 
My  road  leads  me  forth 

To  add  more  miles  to  the  tally 

Of  grey  miles  left  behind, 
In  quest  of  that  one  beauty 

God  put  me  here  to  find. 


MIDSUMMER  NIGHT 

The  perfect  disc  of  the  sacred  moon 

Through  still  blue  heaven  serenely  swims, 
And  the  lone  bird's  liquid  music  brims 

The  peace  of  the  night  with  a  perfect  tune. 

This  is  that  holiest  night  of  the  year 
When  (the  mowers  say)  may  be  heard  and 

seen 
The  ghostly  court  of  the  English  queen, 

Who  rides  to  harry  and  hunt  the  deer. 

And  the  woodland  creatures  cower  awake, 
A  strange  unrest  is  on  harts  and  does, 
For  the  maiden  Dian  a-hunting  goes. 

And  the  trembhng   deer   are   afoot  in  the 
brake. 

272 


MIDSUMMER  NIGHT  273 

They  start  at  a  shaken  leaf :   the  sound 
Of  a  dry  twig  snapped  by  a  squirrel's  foot 
Is  a  nameless  dread:    and  to  them  the 
hoot 

Of  a  mousing  owl  is  the  cry  of  a  hound. 

Oh  soon  the  forest  will  ring  with  cries, 
The   dim   green   coverts   will   flash :    the 

grass 
Will  glow  as  the  radiant  hunters  pass 

After  the  quarry  with  burning  eyes. 

The  hurrying  feet  will  range  unstayed 
Of  questing  goddess  and  hunted  fawn, 
Till  the  east  is  grey  with  the  sacred  dawn. 

And  the  red  cock  wakens  the  milking  maid. 


THE  HARPER^S  SONG 

This  sweetness  trembling  from  the  strings 
The  music  of  my  troublous  lute 
Hath  timed  Herodias^  daughter's  foot ; 
Setting  a-clink  her  ankle-rings 
Whenas  she  danced  to  feasted  kings. 

Where  gemmed  apparel  burned  and  caught 
The  sunset  'neath  the  golden  dome, 
To  the  dark  beauties  of  old  Rome 
My  sorrowful  lute  hath  haply  brought 
Sad  memories  sweet  with  tender  thought. 

When  night  had  fallen  and  lights  and  fires 
Were  darkened  in  the  homes  of  men, 
Some  sighing  echo  stirred  :  —  and  then 
The  old  cunning  wakened  from  the  wires 
The  old  sorrows  and  the  old  desires. 

274 


THE  harper's  song  275 

Dead  Kings  in  long  forgotten  lands, 
And  all  dead  beauteous  women;   some 
Whose  pride  imperial  hath  become 
Old  armour  rusting  in  the  sands 
And  shards  of  iron  in  dusty  hands, 

Have  heard  my  lyre's  soft  rise  and  fall 
Go  trembling  down  the  paven  ways, 
Till  every  heart  was  all  ablaze  — 

Hasty  each  foot  —  to  obey  the  call 

To  triumph  or  to  funeral. 

Could  I  begin  again  the  slow 
Sweet  mournful  music  filled  with  tears, 
Surely  the  old,  dead,  dusty  ears 

Would  hear;    the  old  drowsy  eyes  would 
glow, 

Old  memories  come;   old  hopes  and  fears, 

And  time  restore  the  long  ago. 


THE  GENTLE  LADY 

So  beautiful,  so  dainty-sweet, 

So  like  a  lyre's  delightful  touch  — 

A  beauty  perfect,  ripe,  complete 

That  art's  own  hand  could  only  smutch 

And  nature's  self  not  better  much. 

So  beautiful,  so  purely  wrought, 
Like  a  fair  missal  penned  with  hymns, 
So  gentle,  so  surpassing  thought  — 
A  beauteous  soul  in  lovely  limbs, 
A  lantern  that  an  angel  trims. 

So  simple-sweet,  without  a  sin, 
Like  gentle  music  gently  timed. 
Like  rhyme-words  coming  aptly  in, 
To  round  a  mooned  poem  rhymed 
To  tunes  the  laughing  bells  have  chimed. 

276 


THE  DEAD  KNIGHT 

The  cleanly  rush  of  the  mountain  air, 
And  the  mumbling,  grumbling  humble-bees, 
Are  the  only  things  that  wander  there. 
The  pitiful  bones  are  laid  at  ease. 
The  grass  has  grown  in  his  tangled  hair, 
And  a  rambling  bramble  binds  his  knees. 

To  shrieve  his  soul  from  the  pangs  of  hell, 
The  only  requiem  bells  that  rang 
Were  the  harebell  and  the  heather  bell. 
Hushed  he  is  with  the  holy  spell 
In  the  gentle  hymn  the  wind  sang, 
And  he  lies  quiet,  and  sleeps  well. 
He  is  bleached  and  blanched  with  the  sum- 
mer sun; 

The  misty  rain  and  the  cold  dew 
277 


278  TUB  BEAD  KNIGHT 

Have  altered  him  from  the  kingly  one 
Whom  his  lady  loved,  and  his  men  knew, 
And  dwindled  him  to  a  skeleton. 

The  vetches  have  twined  about  his  bones, 

The  straggling  ivy  twists  and  creeps 

In  his  eye-sockets :  the  nettle  keeps 

Vigil  about  him  while  he  sleeps. 

Over  his  body  the  wind  moans 

With  a  dreary  tune  throughout  the  day. 

In  a  chorus  wistful,  eerie,  thin 

As  the  gulls'  cry,  as  the  cry  in  the  bay, 

The  mournful  word  the  seas  say 

When  tides  are  wandering  out  or  in. 


SORROW  OF  MYDATH 

Weary  the  cry  of  the  wind  is,  weary  the 

sea, 
Weary   the   heart   and    the  mind  and  the 

body  of  me, 
Would  I  were  out  of  it,  done  with  it,  would 

I  could  be 
A  white   gull   crying  along  the   desolate, 

sands. 

Outcast,  dereUct  soul  in  a  body  accurst. 
Standing  drenched  with  the  spindrift,  stand- 
ing athirst, 
For  the  cool  green  waves  of  death  to  arise 
and  burst 
In  a  tide  of  quiet  for  me  on  the  desolate 

sands. 

279 


280  SORROW  OF  MYDATH 

Would  that  the  waves  and  the  long  white 

hair  of  the  spray 
Would  gather  in  splendid  terror,  and  blot 

me  away 
To  the  sunless  place  of  the  wrecks  where 

the  waters  sway 
Gently,    dreamily,    quietly   over   desolate 

sands. 


TWILIGHT 

Twilight  it  is,  and  the  far  woods  are  dim, 

and  the  rooks  cry  and  call. 
Down  in  the  valley  the  lamps,  and  the  mist, 

and  a  star  over  all, 
There  by  the  rick,  where  they  thresh,  is  the 

drone  at  an  end, 
Twihght  it  is,  and  I  travel  the  road  with 

my  friend. 

I  think  of  the  friends  who  are  dead,  who 

were  dear  long  ago  in  the  past. 
Beautiful  friends  who  are  dead,   though  I 

know  that  death  cannot  last ; 
Friends  with  the  beautiful  eyes  that  the  dust 

has  defiled. 
Beautiful  souls  who  were  gentle  when  I  was 

a  child. 

281 


INVOCATION 

O  WANDERER  into  many  brains, 
O  spark  the  emperor's  purple  hides, 
You  sow  the  dusk  with  fiery  grains 
When  the  gold  horseman  rides. 
O  beauty  on  the  darkness  hurled. 
Be  it  through  me  you  shame  the  world. 


282 


POSTED  AS  MISSING 

Under  all  her  topsails  she  trembled  Hke  a 

stag, 
The  wind  made  a  ripple  in  her  bonny  red 

flag; 
They  cheered  her  from  the  shore  and  they 

cheered  her  from  the  pier, 
And  under  all  her  topsails  she  trembled  like 

a  deer. 

So   she    passed   swaying,  where   the  green 

seas  run. 
Her  wind-steadied  topsails  were  stately  in 

the  sun; 
There  was  glitter  on  the  water  from  her 

red  port  light, 
So    she    passed   swaying,   till   she  was  out 

of  sight. 

283 


284  POSTED  AS  3ns SING 

Long  and  long  ago  it  was,  a  weary  time 
it  is, 

The  bones  of  her  sailor-men  are  coral  plants 
by  this; 

Coral  plants,  and  shark-weed,  and  a  mer- 
maid's comb. 

And  if  the  fishers  net  them  they  never 
bring  them  home. 

It's  rough  on  sailors'  women.  They  have 
to  mangle  hard, 

And  stitch  at  dungarees  till  their  finger- 
ends  are  scarred. 

Thinking  of  the  sailor-men  who  sang  among 
the  crowds 

Hoisting  of  her  topsails  when  she  sailed  so 
proud. 


A  CREED 

I  HOLD  that  when  a  person  dies 
His  soul  returns  again  to  earth; 

Arrayed  in  some  new  flesh-disguise 
Another  mother  gives  him  birth. 

With  sturdier  Hmbs  and  brighter  brain 

The  old  soul  takes  the  roads  again. 

Such  is  my  own  belief  and  trust; 

This  hand,  this  hand  that  holds  the  pen, 
Has  many  a  hundred  times  been  dust 

And  turned,  as  dust,  to  dust  again; 
These  eyes  of  mine  have  blinked  and  shone 
In  Thebes,  in  Troy,  in  Babylon. 

All  that  I  rightly  think  or  do, 

Or  make,  or  spoil,  or  bless,  or  blast, 

285 


&M^ 


286  A   CREED 

Is  curse  or  blessing  justly  due 

For  sloth  or  effort  in  the  past. 
My  life's  a  statement  of  the  sum 
Of  vice  indulged,  or  overcome. 

I  know  that  in  my  lives  to  be 

My  sorry  heart  will  ache  and  burn, 

And  worship,  unavailingly, 

The  woman  whom  I  used  to  spurn, 

And  shake  to  see  another  have 

The  love  I  spurned,  the  love  she  gave. 

And  I  shall  know,  in  angry  words, 
In  gibes,  and  mocks,  and  many  a  tear, 

A  carrion  flock  of  homing-birds, 
The  gibes  and  scorns  I  uttered  here. 

The  brave  word  that  I  failed  to  speak 

Will  brand  me  dastard  on  the  cheek. 

And  as  I  wander  on  the  roads 
I  shall  be  helped  and  healed  and  blessed  >; 


A   CBEED  287 

Dear  words  shall  cheer  and  be  as  goads 

To  urge  to  heights  before  unguessed. 
My  road  shall  be  the  road  I  made; 
All  that  I  gave  shall  be  repaid. 

So  shall  I  fight,  so  shall  I  tread, 
In  this  long  war  beneath  the  stars; 

So  shall  a  glory  wreathe  my  head. 
So  shall  I  faint  and  show  the  scars, 

Until  this  case,  this  clogging  mould, 

Be  smithied  all  to  kingly  gold. 


WHEN  BONY  DEATH 

When  bony  Death  has  chilled  her  gentle 
blood, 
And  dimmed  the  brightness  of  her  wistful 
eyes, 
And  changed  her  glorious  beauty  into  mud 
By  his  old  skill  in  hateful  wizardries  ; 

When  an  old  hchened  marble  strives  to  tell 

How  sweet  a  grace,  how  red  a  lip  was 

hers; 

When  rheumy  grey-beards  say,  '^I  knew  her 

well,'^ 

Showing  the  grave  to  curious  worshippers ; 

When  all  the  roses  that  she  sowed  in  me 

Have   dripped   their   crimson  petals   and 

decayed, 

288 


WHEN  BONY  DEATH  289 

Leaving  no  greenery  on  any  tree 
That  her  dear  hands  in  my  heart's  garden 
laid, 

Then  grant,  old  Time,  to  my  green  moulder- 
ing skull, 

These  songs  may  keep  her  memory  beauti- 
ful. 


THE  WEST  WIND 

It's  a  warm  wind,  the  west  wind,  full  of 

birds'  cries; 
I  never  hear  the  west  wind  but  tears  are  in 

my  eyes. 
For  it  comes  from  the  west  lands,  the  old 

brown  hills, 
And  April's  in  the  west  wind,  and  daffodils. 

It's  a  fine  land,  the  west  land,  for  hearts  as 

tired  as  mine, 
Apple  orchards  blossom  there,  and  the  air's 

like  wine. 
There  is  cool  green  grass  there,  where  men 

may  lie  at  rest. 
And  the  thrushes  are  in  song  there,  fluting 

from  the  nest. 

290 


THE    WEST    WIND  291 

'^Will  you  not  come  home,  brother?    You 

have  been  long  away. 
It's  April,  and  blossom  time,  and  white  is 

the  spray : 
And  bright  is  the  sun,  brother,  and  warm  is 

the  rain. 
Will  you  not  come  home,  brother,  home  to 

us  again? 

The  young  corn  is  green,  brother,  where  the 

rabbits  run; 
It's  blue  sky,  and  white  clouds,  and  warm 

rain  and  sun. 
It's  song  to  a  man's  soul,  brother,  fire  to  a 

man's  brain. 
To  hear  the  wild  bees  and  see  the  merry 

spring  again. 

Larks    are    singing    in    the    west,    brother, 
above  the  green  wheat, 


292  TUE    WEST    WIND 

So  will  you  not  come  home,  brother,  and 

rest  yom*  tired  feet? 
IVe  a  balm  for  bruised  hearts,  brother,  sleep 

for  aching  eyes," 
Says  the  warm  wind,  the  west  wind,  full  of 

birds'  cries. 

It's  the  white  road  westwards  is  the  road  I 

must  tread 
To  the  green  grass,  the  cool  grass,  and  rest 

for  heart  and  head. 
To  the  violets  and  the  brown  brooks  and 

the  thrushes'  song 
In  the  fine  land,  the  west  land,  the  land 

where  I  belong. 


HER  HEART 

Her  heart  is  always  doing  lovely  things, 
Filling    my    wintry    mind    with    simple 
flowers ; 

Playing  sweet  tunes  on  my  untuned  strings, 
Delighting  all  my  undelightful  hours. 

She  plays  me  like  a  lute,  what  tune  she  will. 
No    string   in   me   but    trembles   at   her 
touch. 
Shakes  into  sacred  music,  or  is  still. 
Trembles  or  stops,  or  swells,  her  skill  is 
such. 
And  in  the  dusty  tavern  of  my  soul 

Where  filthy  lusts  drink  witches'  brew  for 
wine, 

293 


294  HER    HEART 

Her  gentle  hand  still  keeps  me  from  the 
bowl, 
Still  keeps  me  man,  saves  me  from  being 
swine. 

All  grace  in  me,  all  sweetness  in  my  verse. 
Is  hers,  is  my  dear  girl's,  and  only  hers. 


BEING  HER  FRIEND 

Being  her  friend,  I  do  not  care,  not  I, 
How  gods  or  men  may  wrong  me,  beat 
me  down; 

Her  word's  sufficient  star  to  travel  by, 
I  count  her  quiet  praise  sufficient  crown. 

Being  her  friend,  I  do  not  covet  gold. 
Save  for  a  royal  gift  to  give  her  pleasure ; 

To  sit  with  her,  and  have  her  hand  to  hold, 
Is    wealth,    I    think,    surpassing    minted 
treasure. 

Being  her  friend,  I  only  covet  art, 

A  white  pure  flame  to  search  me  as  I 

trace 

In  crooked  letters  from  a  throbbing  heart 

The  hymn  to  beauty  written  on  her  face. 
295 


FRAGMENTS 

Troy  Town  is  covered  up  with  weeds, 
The  rabbits  and  the  pismires  brood 

On  broken  gold,  and  shards,  and  beads 
Where  Priam's  ancient  palace  stood. 

The  floors  of  many  a  gallant  house 
Are  matted  with  the  roots  of  grass; 

The  glow-worm  and  the  nimble  mouse 
Among  her  ruins  flit  and  pass. 

And  there,  in  orts  of  blackened  bone, 
The  widowed  Trojan  beauties  lie, 

And  Simois  babbles  over  stone 
And  waps  and  gurgles  to  the  sky. 

Once  there  were  merry  days  in  Troy, 
Her  chimneys  smoked  with  cooking  meals. 

The  passing  chariots  did  annoy 
The  sunning  housewives  at  their  wheels. 

296 


FRAGMENTS  297 

And  many  a  lovely  Trojan  maid 

Set  Trojan  lads  to  lovely  things; 
The  game  of  life  was  nobly  played, 

They  played  the  game  like  Queens  and 
Kings. 

So  that,  when  Troy  had  greatly  passed 

In  one  red  roaring  fiery  coal. 
The  courts  the  Grecians  overcast  -^ 

Became  a  city  in  the  soul. 

In  some  green  island  of  the  sea. 
Where  now  the  shadowy  coral  grows 

In  pride  and  pomp  and  empery 
The  courts  of  old  Atlantis  rose. 

In  many  a  glittering  house  of  glass 

The  Atlanteans  wandered  there; 
The  paleness  of  their  faces  was 

Like  ivory,  so  pale  they  were. 


t 


298  FRAGMENTS 

And  hushed  they  were,  no  noise  of  words 
In  those  bright  cities  ever  rang; 

Only  their  thoughts,  Uke  golden  birds. 
About  their  chambers  thrilled  and  sang. 

They  knew  all  wisdom,  for  they  knew 
The  souls  of  those  Egyptian  Kings 

Who  learned,  in  ancient  Babilu, 
The  beauty  of  immortal  things. 

They  knew  all  beauty  —  when  they  thought 
The  air  chimed  Hke  a  stricken  lyre, 

The  elemental  birds  were  wrought, 
The  golden  birds  became  a  fire. 

And  straight  to  busy  camps  and  marts 
The  singing  flames  were  swiftly  gone; 

The  trembling  leaves  of  human  hearts 
Hid  boughs  for  them  to  perch  upon. 

And  men  in  desert  places,  men 

Abandoned,  broken,  sick  with  fears, 


FRAGMENTS  299 

Rose  singing,  swung  their  swords  agen, 
And  laughed  and  died  among  the  spears. 

The  green  and  greedy  seas  have  drowned 
•  That  city's  gUttering  walls  and  towers, 
Her  sunken  minarets  are  crowned 
With  red  and  russet  water-flowers. 

In  towers  and  rooms  and  golden  courts 
The  shadowy  coral  lifts  her  sprays; 
'  The  scrawl  hath  gorged  her  broken  orts, 
The  shark  doth  haunt  her  hidden  ways. 

But,  at  the  falling  of  the  tide, 
The  golden  birds  still  sing  and  gleam, 

The  Atlanteans  have  not  died, 

Immortal  things  still  give  us  dream. 

The  dream  that  fires  man's  heart  to  make, 
To  build,  to  do,  to  sing  or  say 

A  beauty  Death  can  never  take. 
An  Adam  from  the  crumbled  clay. 


BORN  FOR  NOUGHT  ELSE 

Born  for  nought  else,  for  nothing  but  for 
this, 

To  watch  the  soft  blood  throJbbing  in  her 

throat. 

To  think  how  comely  sweet  her  body  is, 

And  learn  the  poem  of  her  face  by  rote. 

Born    for   nought    else   but    to   attempt   a 
rhyme 
That     shall     describe     her     womanhood 
aright. 
And  make  her  holy  to  the  end  of  Time, 
And    be    my    souFs    acquittal    in    God's 
sight. 

Born  for  nought  else  but  to  expressly  mark 
The  music  of  her  dear  dehcious  ways; 

300 


BOBN  FOB  NOUGHT  ELSE  301 

Born  but  to  perish  meanly  in  the  dark, 
Yet    born   to    be   the  man   to   sing   her 
praise. 

t. 
Born  for  nought  else :   there  is  a  spirit  tells 
My  lot's  a  King's,  being  born  for  nothing    . 
else. 


TEWKESBURY  ROAD 

It  is  good  to  be  out  on  the  road,  and  going 
one  knows  not  where, 
Going  through  meadow  and  village,  one 
knows  not  whither  nor  why; 
Through  the  grey  light  drift  of  the  dust,  in 
the  keen  cool  rush  of  the  air. 
Under  the  flying  white  clouds,  and  the 
broad  blue  lift  of  the  sky. 

And  to  halt  at  the  chattering  brook,  in  the 

tall  green  fern  at  the  brink 

Where  the  harebell  grows,  and  the  gorse, 

and  the  foxgloves  purple  and  white; 

Where    the    shy-eyed    dehcate    deer    troop 

down  to  the  brook  to  drink 

When  the  stars  are  mellow  and  large  at 

the  coming  on  of  the  night. 
302 


TEWKSBUBY  BOAB  303 

O,   to  feel  the  beat  of  the  rain,   and  the 
homely  smell  of  the  earth, 
Is  a  tune  for  the  blood  to  jig  to,  a  joy 
past  power  of  words; 
And  the  blessed  green  comely  meadows  are 
all  a-ripple  with  mirth 
At  the  noise  of  the  lambs  at  play  and  the 
dear  wild  cry  of  the  birds. 


THE  DEATH  ROOMS 

My  soul  has  many  an  old  decaying  room 
Hung  with  the  ragged  arras  of  the  past, 

Where  startled  faces  flicker  in  the  gloom, 
And  horrid  whispers  set  the  cheek  aghast. 

Those   dropping  fooms  are  haunted  by  a 
death, 
A    something    like    a    worm    gnawing    a 
brain. 
That  bids  me  heed  what  bitter  lesson  saith 
The  bUnd  wind  beating  on  the  window- 
pane. 

None  dwells  in  those  old  rooms :   none  ever 

can  — 

I  pass  them  through  at  night  with  hidden 

head; 

304 


THE  DEATH  BOOMS  305 

Lock'd  rotting  rooms  her  eyes  must  never 
scan, 

Floors  that  her  blessed  feet  must  never 

tread. 

Haunted  old  rooms:   rooms  she  must  never 

know, 
Where   death-ticks   knock   and   mouldering 

panels  glow. 


IGNORANCE 

Since  I  have  learned  Love's  shining  alpha- 
bet, 
And  spelled  in  ink  what's  writ  in  me  in 
flame, 
And  borne  her  sacred  image  richly  set 
Here  in  my  heart  to  keep  me  quit  of 
shame ; 

Since  I  have  learned  how  wise  and  passing 

wise 

Is  the  dear  friend  whose  beauty  I  extol, 

And  know  how  sweet  a  soul  looks  through 

the  eyes, 

That  are  so  pure  a  window  to  her  soul ; 

Since  I  have  learned  how  rare  a  woman 

shows 

306 


IGNORANCE  307 

As  much  in  all  she  does  as  in  her  looks, 
And   seen   the   beauty    of   her   shame   the 
rose, 
And  dim  the  beauty  writ  about  in  books ; 

All  I  have  learned,  and  can  learn,  shows  me 

this  — 
How  scant,   how  shght,   my  knowledge  of 

her  is. 


SEA  FEVER 

I  MUST  go  down  to  the  seas  again,  to  the 

lonely  sea  and  the  sky, 
And  all  I  ask  is  a  tall  ship  and  a  star  to 

steer  her  by; 
And  the  wheel's  kick  and  the  wind^s  song 

and  the  white  sail's  shaking. 
And  a  grey  mist  on  the  sea's  face,  and  a 

grey  dawn  breaking, 

I  must  go  down  to  the  seas  again,  for  the 

call  of  the  running  tide 
Is  a  wild  call  and  a  clear  call  that  may  not 

be  denied; 
And  all  I  ask  is  a  windy  day  with  the  white 

clouds  flying. 

And  the  flung  spray  and  the  blown  spume, 

and  the  sea-gulls  crying. 
308 


SEA  FEVER  309 

I  must  go  down  to  the  seas  again,  to  the 
vagrant  gypsy  Hfe, 

To  the  gull's  way  and  the  whale's  way 
where  the  wind's  like  a  whetted  knife ; 

And  all  I  ask  is  a  merry  yarn  from  a  laugh- 
ing fellow-rover, 

And  quiet  sleep  and  a  sweet  dream  when 
the  long  trick's  over. 


THE  WATCH  IN  THE  WOOD 

When  Death  has  laid  her  in  his  quietude, 
And  dimmed  the  glow  of  her  benignant 
star, 
Her  tired  limbs  shall  rest  within  a  wood. 
In  a  green  glade  where  oaks  and  beeches 
are. 

Where  the  shy  fawns,  the  pretty  fawns,  the 
deer. 
With   mild    brown   eyes    shall    view   her 
spirit's  husk; 
The  sleeping  woman  of  her  will  appear, 
The  maiden  Dian  shining  through  the  dusk. 

And,  when  the  stars  are  white  as  twilight 

fails, 

And  the  green  leaves  are  hushed,  and  the 

winds  swoon, 

310 


THE   WATCH  IN  THE  WOOD  311 

The  calm  pure  thrilling  throats  of  nightin- 
gales 
Shall  hymn  her  sleeping  beauty  to  the 
moon. 

All  the  woods  hushed  —  save  for  a  dripping 
rose, 

All  the  woods  dim  —  save  where  a  glow- 
worm glows. 

Brimming  the  quiet  woods  with  holiness, 
The  lone  brown  birds  will  hymn  her  till 
the  dawn, 
The  dehcate,  shy,  dappled  deer  will  press 
Soft    pitying  muzzles    on    her    swathed 
lawn. 

The  little  pretty  rabbits  running  by. 

Will    pause    among    the    dewy    grass    to 
peep, 
Their  thudding  hearts  affrighted  to  espy 

The  maiden  Dian  lying  there  asleep. 


312  THE  WATCH  IN  THE   WOOD 

Brown,    lustrous,    placid    eyes    of    sylvan 
things 
Will  wonder  at  the  quiet  in  her  face. 
While  from  the  thorny  branch  the  singer 
brings 
Beauty  and  peace  to  that  immortal  place. 

Until  the  grey  dawn  sets  the  woods  astir 
The  pure  birds'  thrilling  psalm  will  mourn 
for  her. 


G.  L.  M. 

In  the  dark  womb  where  I  began 
My  mother's  life  made  me  a  man. 
Through  all  the  months  of  human  birth 
Her  beauty  fed  my  common  earth. 
I  cannot  see,  nor  breathe,  nor  stir, 
But  through  the  death  of  some  of  her. 

Down  in  the  darkness  of  the  grave 
She  cannot  see  the  life  she  gave. 
For  all  her  love,  she  cannot  tell 
Whether  I  use  it  ill  or  well, 
Nor  knock  at  dusty  doors  to  find 
Her  beauty  dusty  in  the  mind. 

If  the  grave's  gates  could  be  undone, 
She  would  not  know  her  little  son, 
I  am  so  grown.     If  we  should  meet 

313 


314  c.  i.  M. 

She  would  pass  by  me  in  the  street, 
Unless  my  souFs  face  let  her  see 
My  sense  of  what  she  did  for  me. 

What  have  I  done  to  keep  in  mind 
My  debt  to  her  and  womankind? 
What  woman's  happier  life  repays 
Her  for  those  months  of  wretched  days? 
For  all  my  mouthless  body  leeched 
Ere  Birth's  releasing  hell  was  reached? 

What  have  I  done,  or  tried,  or  said 
In  thanks  to  that  dear  woman  dead? 
Men  triumph  over  women  still. 
Men  trample  women's  rights  at  will. 
And  man's  lust  roves  the  world  untamed. 

*  *  *  nil 

O  grave,  keep  shut  lest  I  be  shamed. 


WASTE 

No  rose  but  fades :  no  glory  but  must  pass  : 
No  hue  but  dims:    no  precious  silk  but 
frets. 

Her  beauty  must  go  underneath  the  grass,     ^ 
Under  the  long  roots  of  the  violets. 

0,  many  glowing  beauties  Time  has  hid 
In   that   dark,    blotting   box   the   villain 
sends. 
He  covers  over  with  a  coffin-lid 
Mothers  and  sons,  and  foes  and  lovely 
friends. 

Maids  that  were  redly-lipped  and  comely- 
skinned, 
Friends  that  deserved  a  sweeter  bed  than 

clay, 

315 


316  WASTE 

All    are    as    blossoms    blowing    down    the 
wind, 
Things    the    old    envious    villain    sweeps 
away. 

And     though     the    mutterer    laughs     and 

church  bells  toll, 
Death  brings  another  April  to  the  soul. 


THIRD  MATE 

All  the  sheets  are  clacking,  all  the  blocks 

are  whining, 
The  sails  are  frozen  stiff  and  the  wetted 

decks  are  shining; 
The  reef's  in  the  topsails,  and  it's  coming 

on  to  blow. 
And  I  think  of  the  dear  girl  I  left  long 

ago. 

Grey  were  her  eyes,  and  her  hair  was  long 

and  bonny, 
Golden  was  her  hair,   like  the  wild  bees' 

honey. 
And  I  was  but  a  dog,  and  a  mad  one  to 

despise. 

The  gold  of  her  hair  and  the  grey  of  her 

eyes. 

317 


318  THIRD  MATE 

There's  the  sea  before  me,  and  my  home's 

behind  me, 
And  beyond  there  the  strange  lands  where 

nobody  will  mind  me, 
No  one  but  the  girls  with  the  paint  upon 

their  cheeks, 
Who  sell  away  their  beauty  to  whomsoever 

seeks. 

There'll   be   drink   and   women   there,   and 

songs  and  laughter. 
Peace  from  what  is  past  and  from  all  that 

follows  after; 
And  a  fellow  will  forget  how  a  woman  lies 

awake. 
Lonely  in  the  night  watch  crying  for  his 

sake. 

Black  it  blows  and  bad  and  it  howls  like 
slaughter, 


THIRD  MATE  319 

And  the  ship  she  shudders  as  she  takes  the 
water. 

Hissing  flies  the  spindrift  like  a  wind- 
blown smoke, 

And  I  think  of  a  woman  and  a  heart  I 
broke. 


THE  WILD  DUCK 

Twilight.    Red  in  the  west. 

Dimness.    A  glow  on  the  wood. 

The  teams  plod  home  to  rest. 

The  wild  duck  come  to  glean. 

O  souls  not  understood, 

What  a  wild  cry  in  the  pool; 

What    things    have    the    farm    ducks 

seen 
That  they  cry  so  —  huddle  and  cry  ? 

Only  the  soul  that  goes. 
Eager.    Eager.     Flying. 
Over  the  globe  of  the  moon, 
Over  the  wood  that  glows. 
Wings  Unked.     Necks  a-strain, 

320 


THE  WILD  DUCK  321 

A  rush  and  a  wild  crying. 
*  *  « 

A  cry  of  the  long  pain 

In  the  reeds  of  a  steel  lagoon. 

In  a  land  that  no  man  knows. 


CHRISTMAS,   1903 

O,  THE  sea  breeze  will  be  steady,  and  the 

tall  ship's  going  trim, 
And  the  dark  blue  skies  are  paling,   and 

the  white  stars  burning  dim; 
The  long  night  watch  is  over,  and  the  long 

sea-roving  done. 
And  yonder  Hght  is  the  Start  Point  light, 

and  yonder  comes  the  sun. 

O,  we  have  been  with  the  Spaniards,  and 

far  and  long  on  the  sea; 
But  there  are   the  twisted  chimneys,  and 

the  gnarled  old  inns  on  the  quay. 
The  wind  blows  keen  as  the  day  breaks, 

the  roofs  are  white  with  the  rime. 

And  the  church-bells  ring  as  the  sun  comes 

up  to  call  men  in  to  Prime. 
322 


CHRISTMAS,   1903  323 

The  church-bells  rock  and  jangle,  and  there 
is  peace  on  the  earth. 

Peace  and  good  will  and  plenty  and  Christ- 
mas games  and  mirth. 

O,  the  gold  glints  bright  on  the  wind-vane 
as  it  shifts  above  the  squire's  house, 

And  the  water  of  the  bar  of  Salcombe  is 
muttering  about  the  bows. 

0,    the    salt    sea    tide    of    Salcombe,    it 

wrinkles  into  wisps  of  foam. 
And  the  church-bells  ring  in  Salcombe  to 

ring  poor  sailors  home. 
The    belfry    rocks    as    the    bells    ring,    the 

chimes  are  merry  as  a  song, 
They    ring    home    wandering    sailors    who 

have  been  homeless  long. 


THE  WORD 

My  friend,  my  bonny  friend,  when  we  are 
old, 
And  hand  in  hand  go  tottering  down  the 
hill, 
May  we  be  rich  in  love's  refined  gold. 
May  love's  gold  coin  be  current  with  us 
still. 

May    love    be    sweeter    for    the    vanished 
days. 
And   your   most   perfect   beauty   still   as 
dear 
As    when    your    troubled    singer    stood    at 
gaze 
In   the   dear   March   of   a   most   sacred 
year. 

324 


THE   WORD  325 

May  what  we  are  be  all  we  might  have 

been, 

And  that  potential,  perfect,  0  my  friend. 

And   may   there   still   be   many   sheafs   to 

glean 

In  our  love's  acre,  comrade,  till  the  end. 

And  may  we  find,  when  ended  is  the  page,    i 
Death  but  a  tavern  on  our  pilgrimage.         / 


THE  following  pages  contain  advertise- 
ments of  books  by  the  same  author  and 
other  recent  important  poetry. 


-% 


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